


Homecoming

by ThisWasInevitable



Series: Falling [13]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Biting, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Mentions of Character Death, Oral Sex, TAZ Amnesty, background danbrey, background sternclay, indruck, local bear loves disaster moth, set post finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: It's been a little over a year since Indrid Cold saved Duck Newton from falling off a cliff, and roughly six months since they and their friends stopped the end of two worlds.As their relationship continues, Duck and Indrid decide to embark on the intimidating mission of introducing Duck to the Sylph's family. But the seemingly simple process sets in motion events that could be more disastrous than anything they've faced before.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Series: Falling [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1229684
Comments: 45
Kudos: 127





	1. Walking Home to Me

Alternate timelines are a strange side effect of Indrid Cold’s powers. Seeing futures set and reset and play out allows him to see many ways the story of his life, and the loves of those he cares for, can play out.

There are timelines, for instance, where it all goes dark. They do not stop the Quell, Duck does not fulfill his destiny. He is glad when those finally cease racing through his mind. 

There are timelines where he does not return to Kepler until months after his encounter with the Pine Guard, where the next abomination is not an oozing mass with Duck as it’s target but a mimic that costs them the secrets of the lodge, Mama’s freedom, and Ned's life. 

There are timelines where he becomes little more than a footnote in Duck Newtons life story. His friend, the Mothman, who he sees little of after moving to Brazil and in his life afterwards.

But this is not any of those timelines. 

In this timeline, he wakes up to the ghost of a kiss on his forehead, the echo of the front door closing as Duck leaves for work. Waiting for him when he pads into the kitchen in his mothman slippers (a gift from Ned, who thought himself very funny) is a note from his boyfriend.

_Morning sleepyhead,_

_Thought it might be nice to hike tonight. I know it’s going to be cold, but I promise I’ll warm you up when we get home. If you’re interested, have someone drop you off at the station when I get off work._

_Love, Duck._

He huffs out a laugh to the empty room; only in this timeline, only with Duck, would he agree to walk in the snowy night air. 

As he’s mixing his caramel creamer into a coffee mug, he discovers this is also a timeline in which his friends all appear to have developed a simultaneous death wish. 

“Amnesty Lodge, this is-”

“Barclay, Jake is about to snowboard off the roof and into a, oh, oh dear.”

“Uh, I better call you back bud, looks like he just got stuck in a tree.”

Indrid flips through the futures, sighs, “The only way to get him down without injuries is via someone with wings.”

“I’ll send Joseph down with the car.” 

“Thank you.”

Stern arrives shortly, chats amicably on the drive back, mainly about the finer points of disguise charm making and the plot inconsistencies of _Twin Peaks_. 

“You realize you’ll need to distract those two other agents who’ve been hanging around while I retrieve Jake.”

“Honestly, since Hayes let me select my team for this assignment, the worst they would do is ask for your autograph.”

“Ah yes. I forgot one of them has been flirting with Greg ever since he saw him in his werewolf form.” Indrid steps out of the car, pulling his fur-lined beanie further down on his head.

“Hey dudes!” Jake waves to them, four stories up in a tree. Indrid checks the futures quickly to be sure of now unwanted spectators, hands Stern his glasses, and flaps up to retrieve his friend. 

“Thanks man.” Jake high fives him, misses due to Indrid changing forms mid-motion. 

“You’re welcome, though I can’t understand why snowboarding off the roof was such a tempting--oh no, oh goodness where is Aubrey?”

“Uh, inside?”

He sprints into the lodge, searching for red hair.

“Aubrey! Where is Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“I think he was in the kitchen, watching Barclay. Also, hi.” Aubrey hops out of Dani’s lap. The two women, plus their furry companion, have been visiting from Sylvain for the last few days. 

“He is, for reasons that escape me, about to run off with the carving knife.”

“Like hell he is.” Aubrey turns towards the kitchen.

“Mom look what I have!”

“Oh dear.”

“You put that down right now young man!”

After a half hour game of hide and seek with an armed rabbit, they successfully return the knife to Barclay.

“Hey, Indrid, while you’re here, you mind helping me taste test some things?”

It’s a welcome respite from the chaos, Barclay offering him various dessert samples over the course of an hour and asking his thoughts.

He’s halfway through a cup of Heath Bar pudding when-

“Ughhhh. Barclay, may I use the phone in the lobby?”

“Sure thing.”

“This is Tarkesians-”

“Leo, under no circumstances allow your employee to put those cans of oh darn it all.”

“Cans of what?”

“Cat food. Some of them are expired, and will make for a very messy time for everyone if a cat eats them.”

“Thanks for the heads up, I’ll have ‘im pull the expired ones.”

“You’re welcome.” Indrid hangs up, rests his head against the nearest wall. Then immediately straightens and runs towards the back door.

\--------------------------------------------------

“....so then I dash out because I foresee Aubrey making a ring of fire for Hollis to ride through with a high chance of disastrous consequences. Honestly Duck, it was like that all day. I have no idea what’s gotten into everybody.”

“Sorry you had to do so much runnin’ around darlin.” Duck kisses his cheek as they walk, holding hands, through the snowy woods. 

“It’s quite alright. I did get to eat a massive amount of sugar courtesy of Barclay, and Stern and I spent a good hour laughing over the various representations of myself and Barclay in the “cryptid collector” catalogue he gets. It does explain how he has so many cryptid-themed clothing items.” He hooks his arm through Ducks, cuddling into his warmth, “I’m sorry, I have spent most of our walk complaining. How was work?”

“The usual. Finishin up some tree health reports, answered some questions about animal tracks, tellin people which trails are snow-shoe only, that kind of thing.” Duck gazes up at the sky, stars peeking out through patchy clouds, “spent most of the slow parts thinkin about tonight and spendin time with you.”

Indrid hums, soaking in the warmth and comfort radiating from Duck. 

The trail leads them out of the forest and onto a look-out point. The Monongahela spreads out beneath them.

He sees Ducks explanation coming, “Ah, that’s why this looks familiar.” 

A chuckle from beside him, “Yep, it’s where you kept me from turnin into range mush. Can’t believe it’s been more than a year since then. Don’t know about you, but seems like you savin my ass worked out real well for both of us.”

Indrid gazes out over the cliff, let’s his thoughts shift from the future into the past; Duck, asleep that first night in his trailer, the protective fondness in his chest as he tended to his injuries. Their first kiss, the countless others that followed, the nights (and mornings, and afternoons) tangled in bed together. Duck running to him, still bruised from the final battle, holding him tight as Indrid chirped and shuddered with relief that it was this future, not the ones where Duck did not survive. Because there were no futures for him without Duck. Yes, had the human perished, he would have continued on, just as he always did in the wake of disaster. But those were fates, colorless and dull, things he resigned himself to because he knew they could not be changed. 

With Duck beside him, there were _futures_. Countless ones, the mundane day to day as beautiful to him as the adventures, shifting and changing but always full of color, laughter, their friends, their two homes, now safe from harm, and always, always the two of them, together. 

“Indrid?”

He shakes from his trance, frowns for a moment as a strange future makes itself known. Turns, still unsure if what he’s sees coming is the the truth. And then he sees it unfold before him in real time. 

Duck, on one knee in the snow. Between his thumb and forefinger, something glints in the spotty moonlight. 

The human's eyes shutting as he takes a deep breath, opening to meet Indrid’s own with a dozen emotions dancing behind them. 

And that familiar, beloved voice asking him one, simple question.

“Indrid Cold, will you, uh, will you marry me?”


	2. I Can See You Somewhere Up the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey celebrates. Indrid asks a question.

“HE SAID YES!”

“How can you possibly tell?” Stern steps next to Aubrey as she peers out the window, “did you use a spell to keep an eye on them?”

“Uh no? But, like, they just pulled up and they’re stopping to kiss every ten seconds.”

“Good point.”

“Excellent. Places everyone!” Ned shoos people into position, Stern heading back to the kitchen to grab the cupcakes Barclay made. 

“Wait, hang on” Juno whispers from behind the couch, “are we seriously tryin to surprise someone who can see the future?”

“Surprise!” Yell several voices just as Indrid says, “oh goodness, you did not need to do all this” and turns to kiss Duck once more.

“Uh, didn’t actually ask ‘em to do this part. Just all the stuff earlier today.” Duck rubs the back of his neck. He hasn’t stopped blushing since Indrid gave his answer. 

“ _That’s_ why you were all so deeply incautious today.” Indrid doesn’t seem angry in the slightest. 

“Yep. We had to keep you busy so Duck had a chance of, like, actually surprising you.” Aubrey hugs them as Stern and Barclay emerge from the kitchen with trays of black velvet cupcakes (Indrid’s favorite out of all the desserts Barclay had him sample earlier that day).

Indrid settles into his favorite chair by the fire, the one that’s big enough for Duck to cuddle in beside him. Dani turns on an obviously romantic playlist, Aubrey enchants the fire to send out moth and heart-shaped flames, and Barclay brings them each a cupcake. 

The ring is an unfamiliar weight on his finger, and he twists it absentmindedly as he gazes around the room. While the futures make him more than eager to get Duck home and all to himself, he’s filled with the urge to dawdle, so they can stay here and bask in the love and supportive of this strange, ridiculous band of Sylphs and humans, the kind of friends who would devote a whole day to hijinks just to help Duck surprise him. 

Still, as he watches Duck lick stray frosting from his lips, he knows they ought to get home sooner rather than later, lest he get scolded by Mama for grave misuse of lodge furniture (again).

\------------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s been walking in a dream since Indrid chirred the worlds quietest, most stunned “yes” on the overlook. He works of his jacket on autopilot as he steps into their home, Indrid following behind him.

He’s jarred from this soft-filtered, rose-tinted world by way of Indrid yanking him by his suspenders into a kiss as soon as the apartment door clicks shut. 

“Good thinkin” he growls, nudging the taller man backwards, too invested in the kiss to navigate properly. Cold fingers brush his belly as Indrid tugs at his shirt, humming and chirping encouragingly. 

“Fuck, darlin, we should, oh shit.” Indrid hits the arm of the couch and falls backwards, bringing Duck with him. There’s a moment of awkward flailing as Indrid crawls back to fully rest on the cushions, Duck clambering on top of him and too busy kissing to care if they’re impeding each other. 

When Indrid tries to scoot further, Duck pins his legs in place, his ankles still resting on the arm of the couch. He has him right where he wants him.

“Grab the--fuckin drawstring--stuff from the table” he wrestles Indrids pants down, the Sylph laughing as he reaches behind him to the drawer of the small end-table. They’ve been stashing condoms and lube in every room of the house since Indrid moved in, an attempt to spend less time scrambling awkwardly to the bedroom or bathroom and more time fucking each other silly.

“Mmmmm, you know, we should, goodness, plan something elaborate for our honeymoooOH, Duck, sweetheart.” Indrid drops the condoms and small lube bottle unceremoniously onto his stomach when Duck bends forward and sucks the head of his cock, cupping his hands along the slight curve of Indrids ass. 

“Horndog, thinkin about the honeymoon before the weddin.” Duck rips open a condom and slips it on his finger, teasing Indrids entrance as the Sylph wriggles underneath him. 

“ThATs rich, given your current actions, oh, oh goodness, yes.” Indrid tightens around his finger when he drags his tongue up his cock. He takes his time, drawing him inch by inch into his mouth, working his fingers more forcefully each time Indrid chirpmoans. By the time he pulls off with a final lick to the tip, Indrid is shuddering hard enough to that his teeth are chattering.

“How do you want it, darlin?” He sits back on his heels, pausing to run his hands up Indrids legs. 

“Fast, please, and please stay like that, I want to be able to see you.”

Duck grins, “You see me all the time. Not that I’m complainin, views pretty fuckin nice from up here.” He undoes his pants, sighing when he finally works his cock free of his boxers. 

“The futures show you are contemplating taking more time in order to get your pants all the way off. I would like it to be known that I do not prefer that future and instead would like the one where you ohhhhhhhhh.” 

“You were sayin?” Duck takes a moment to savor being fully inside him.

“Carry on.” Indrid purrs, circling one hand around his cock and resting the other atop Ducks own on his hip. 

Duck intends to take it slow, make things prolonged and romantic to match the events of the evening. But all it takes is one shameless, filthy grin from Indrid as he works his hand over his cock and Duck is pounding into him with desperate, ecstatic groans.

“Fuck, darlin, gonna do this every goddamn night, gonna make you so fuckin glad you said ‘yes.’ Shit, never gonna get over how fuckin hot it is watchin you got to pieces with my cock inside you. C’mon, lemme see how much you like it, lemme, shit, that's it, _fuck_.” He comes suddenly, yanking Indrids body flush with his own, the Sylph crying out in delight before coming across Ducks belly. 

He pulls out, carefully collapses down onto his fiance. 

“Whelp, that was faster than I meant it to be. Guess the uh, excitement got the better of me.”

“Oh dear, whatever shall we do? Now we will need to have sex more than once tonight.”

Duck snorts, amused, and gently headbutts Indrids forehead, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, fluffball.”

“I am not a fluffball.” Indrid reaches up, removing his glasses, causing them to fall off the couch when his Sylph form turns out to be poorly balanced on the cushions.

“ _Now_ I am a fluffball.” He wraps his arms and wings around Duck, and the ranger is certain he’s never been more surrounded by affection than he is in this moment. 

“Shall I carry you off to bed, my love?”

“I'd like that an awful lot. Fluffball.”

\------------------------------------------------  
Duck rolls over the next morning to find the bed beside him empty, and the blankets cold. For a beat he’s afraid; Indrid seldom gets up before him, let alone early enough to let the heat leech from the covers. 

Then there’s the unmistakable sound of Indrid’s Sylph form moving about the house, more rustles and clicks reaching Ducks ears than when he's human. Duck can’t remember a time where he couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Good morning.” Indrid stands in the doorway, hands behind his back. 

“Mornin, darlin. Bad visions?” It’s the most common reason the Sylph is up at odd hours. 

“No. I simply woke up earlier and realized there was something I needed to do. You see” he walks to the bed, matress sagging when he sits by Ducks feet, “you gave me something to signify our engagement. But I did not do the same.”

“You hidin a ring back there?” Duck tries to peer around, only for Indrid to extend his wings and block his view.

“No peeking. And not quite. You see, for my kind of Sylph, engagement is signaled by the wearing of feathers from the other person, enchanted so they will be durable. It is meant to signify the willingness to join with another by giving them a piece of yourself to carry with them. So, it seemed only right that I present you with this.”

Indrid brings his hands into view. Held between his claws is a thin, golden chain, at the center of which hangs a single small, dark, speckled feather.

“Duck Newton, would you do me the honor of being my husband?”

Reverently, Duck lifts the necklace from Indrid's fingers and slips it over his head. It fits perfectly, tight enough to be comforting and short enough that it won’t get in his way during work. He rubs the feather between his thumb and finger, skin buzzing first with the enchantment and then with the familiar, distinct velvety softness of Indrid's fluff. 

“Y’know, darlin” he says with a grin, half from the goof of responding when they're already engaged and half from the sheer giddiness brought on by the question, “I think I’ll do just that.”


	3. Nothing Good's for Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid has a request. Aubrey makes a treehouse. Duck meets a general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am basing Indrid's reason for being on Earth on the initial reason Griffin gave: he was sent to seek solutions to the issues on Sylvain, rather than being exiled.

The next few days are a flurry of announcing the news to anyone who needs to know. Or wants to know. And given Kepler’s size, most people know before mid-week rolls around. Duck has fielded more congratulations for this than he has for saving the world. 

“People love a weddin.” Leo says with a shrug as he rings Duck up.

“We don’t even know if there’s gonna be much of one. I mean, Leo, this is _me_ we’re talkin about. I ain’t big on fanfare. And we haven’t had a chance to really talk about if there’s somethin Indrid wants it to be like.”

“Well, any way, I want an invitation when you finally sort things out.”

When he arrives at the apartment, Indrid is sketching at the table, frown plastered on his face. 

“I swear, if I have to answer one more question about the wedding, I am going to fly off and live in that blasted TNT plant.”

“Only if I can come with.” Duck sets the groceries down. 

A smile creases Indrid’s eyes, “Of course. Everywhere I go, you go to. I believe that’s part of the deal.” Then his gaze darts back to the drawings.

Duck knows that look.

“Darlin, there’s somethin else, ain’t there?” He leans against the counter, petting Winnie when she hops up to investigate the box of Froot Loops. 

Indrid sighs, pen scratching in slow ovals, “Yes. I, I think we should have our marriage done in such a way that it is recognized on both Earth and Sylvain. You see-”

“Okay.” Duck lifts the cat to stop her knocking over the milk. 

“-really? In many futures, you needed more reasons. I even wrote them all down in preparation.”

“I mean, don’t see why we shouldn’t, especially if it’s important to you.” He sits down in the chair next to Indrid, taking his hand and carefully slipping the pen from it. On the table, he spots the list, only half visible.

_-Inheritance/beneficiary in event I die first  
-continue positive precedent for other human/Sylph marriages  
-Protection in event of war between worlds  
-Means a lot to me_

“So, what do we need to do? Is there like a city hall or somethin we gotta go to and sign a license in. Or somethin that needs to happen in the ceremony?” He rubs Indrids knuckles with his thumb, watches the tension rise in his shoulders. 

“We will need to go visit my family. There are assets, among other things, that I need their permission in order to access. And they're influential enough that they'd learn of the wedding one way or another. Besides I, I would like them to meet you.”

“Don’t sound too sure about that.” Duck murmurs. 

“It isn’t you” Indrid turns to reassure him so quickly his glasses nearly fly off, “Duck, I haven’t been home in functionally a century, and had limited contact since then. I have enough information to know my parents and sibling survived the Quells anger, the weakening of Sylvain before Aubrey returned her home. But I…” 

Duck knows that look, too. He’s seen it when Indrid reads the morning paper proclaiming disaster the night after he frantically called trying to stop it. When he had to explain to Janelle that in his decades of searching, he’d found no answer to Sylvain's woes. When he recounts the times he failed to help the humans he turned his back on his own to preserve.

“...I am not brave, Duck. Not truly. To be honest, you are the only thing in either world I would face this for. And I do not say that to guilt you, or to be dramatic. I say it to give you a full sense of what I am walking into if I go through that gate. You, Aubrey, Thacker, the others, you are rightly hailed as heroes of Sylvain. I am, rightly, not.”

“But you helped us fight the Quell, helped us plan.”

“So did most of Kepler, I did not set myself apart in that. I have been away from Sylvain for so long, and I failed in the task I was sent to do. I can see how I will be received in most futures upon my return.”

“And you still want to do it?” Duck touches an angular cheek so Indrid will meet his eyes.

“Want is a bit of a strong word but-”

“Indrid, I swear to fuck if you say it’s unavoidable-”

A laugh, shattering the gloom, Indrid mirroring him so cool fingers find his cheek, “No, I know better than to tell Duck Newton that something is destined to happen. Goodness knows your stubborn resistance to the perceived inevitability of events was one of the first things I liked about you.”

“Alright, if this is the probably shitty thing that needs to happen in order for something important to you to be able to happen, then I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Indrid kisses him, landing them in an awkward embrace courtesy of the table and chairs. Duck kisses back, waits until Indrid goes properly relaxed to release him. 

“We ought to go sooner rather than later, as I would dearly like to get this over with. It should only take two days at most” Indrid mumbles against his shoulder.

“Wanna just got back with Aubrey and Dani this weekend.”

A pause as Indrid thinks, and Duck spots a drawing of Indrid alongside another mothperson flying through the air.

“Yes, let us plan on that.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Ooooh I’m so excited, I can’t wait to show you guys our house!”

“Is it..even by where we’re goin?” Duck looks over at Indrid as Dani prepares the mirror.

“You said Briarwood, right?”

Indrid nods.

“Yeah, it’s like a half mile outside there. We wanted somewhere that could have a big garden.” She hoists Dr. Harris Bonkers onto her shoulders.

“We may wish to wait a moment.” 

“Wh-”

“Oh thank god, you haven’t left yet.” Stern and Barclay hurry down the small incline to the new gate (wooden trees twisted into an arch, courtesy of Aubrey). 

“Are you coming to visit too?” The rabbit tilts his head.

“In a way.” Stern slings an overnight bag across his shoulder, “Vincent and I have been meeting monthly, given that there is still a link between our worlds that needs to be monitored for security.”

“And Barclay is coming because…” Dani’s smirk suggests she knows the reason.

“Promised I’d take him to my favorite place to eat in the capital city for our anniversary.” The cook blushes at the fond smile from the agent. Or maybe at the suggestive one from his friend.

“Alright” Dani aims the mirror, “Next stop, Sylvain.”

\-----------------------------------------------

“Hey, Indrid, do you guys know where you’re staying?”

“I had planned to find a room somewhere in town, why, oh goodness.”

“BOOM, treehouse!”

“Holy _shit_.” Duck jumps backwards as a fancy treehouse appears several hundred yards to their right. 

“I put it a ways away from our place for” she bounces her eyebrows, “privacy.”

“That was very thoughtful, Aubrey, thank you. Also a tad terrifying.” Indrid reaches for glasses that aren’t there. Stern and Barlcay peeled off once they were in the main city, promising to catch up if there was time, and Aubrey had put on her best tour guide voice as they walked the path out to her and Dani’s home. 

“Do you want to come in for some tea or something before you go?” Dani rests a hand on Indrids shoulder.

“No, but thank you for offering. I cannot put this off any longer.”

The trio say goodbye and good luck as Duck and Indrid turn down a path that skirts the edge of the woods. From the blank look that keeps flickering across Indrids face, he must be scanning the futures. The accompanying frown suggests he does not like what he sees. Duck gives him the space to plan, holds his hand, occasionally squeezing it reassuringly.

“Here we are.” He says just before they round an outcropping of golden boulders. 

“Jesus.” Duck takes in the scene before him; a main street, lined with small, pink-leafed trees and shops, branching out into cul-de-sacs with what must be houses. Those on the ground remind him of the winter homes wealthy tourists keep in Kepler. Far more impressive are the buildings, some modest and some immense, set into the tree trunks and tops of gigantic oaks, connected by rope bridges.

“Indrid, this is incredible.”

“I suppose it is.” Indrid’s gaze remains distant, though he navigates the streets, Duck in tow, without any hesitation or backtracking.

“I can’t believe they have not changed the layout in years. Then again, a civilization that thinks it’s dying probably doesn’t expend much energy on architectural advancement.”

“Good point. Plus, probably got abandoned for a bit when everyone had to flee to the main city. Can’t change it if you ain’t here.”

“True.” They come to stop before a row of hedges leading to one of the larger tree houses. As they walk down it, Duck can see that the shrubs eventually move from a walkway to a circle, encompassing well-manicured gardens at a few fountains as well as the base of the tree. A rope hangs above them, and as Indrid pulls it Duck sees Sylph writing in molded silver, recognizes it as saying “Cold.”

A box, reminding Duck of a dumbwaiter, descends in response to Indrid pulling the cord, and the two step into it.

“A courtesy offered to non-flighted Sylphs.” Indrid says in response to the question Duck almost asks. 

The elevator lets them off at the deck that extends from the front door. 

“Hey” Duck nudges Indrid, and when the Sylph turns he reaches up to cup his cheeks, guiding him down so he can kiss his forehead, “good luck.”

Indrid smiles, “Thank you, my love.” With that, he turns an knocks on the door. It creaks open, revealing a white mothperson with pink speckles. 

“Can I help you?”

Indrid stands up, taking what Duck refers to as his court seer stance, “Please tell the heads of the house that Indrid is here.”

“You-”

“Yes, _that_ Indrid.” 

The other Sylph steps back, allowing Duck and Indrid to enter the house. 

“I will alert the heads that you are here.”

“That will not be necessary.” 

Indrid and Duck turn to find two dark-feathered mothpeople standing on the stairs. The shorter one speaks again. 

“I saw you arriving from the study. Hello, son.”

“Father. Mother.” Indrid nods, and Duck finds himself wishing he’s asked Thacker for a book on mothperson manners the last time he was here. He has no fucking clue what the polite way to introduce himself is. 

“This is a surprise, to say the least.” Mrs. Cold cocks her head, taking in her son. “Given that you did not return from your mission when it failed, nor when the heart was restored, I can only imagine that something of great significance has brought you to us now.”

“You are correct. I have returned because I have happy news I wish to share with you. I am getting married. To Duck Newton, one of the heroes of Sylvain.” Indrid puts an arm around the ranger.

“Uh, hi.” Duck waves, and both parents seem to see him for the first time.

“You are...marrying a human.” Mr Cold looks him up and down. He does not sound pleased. 

“Yes. Is that a problem?” Indrid crosses his arms.

The Colds exchange a glance. 

“Indrid, come into the library with us for a moment. Mr. Newton would do us a great courtesy by staying out here.”

“Uh, sure, take whatever time you need. Y’all probably have a lot of catchin up to do.” 

Indrid chirrs nervously, so softly that only Duck hears it. He lifts the Sylphs hand and kisses it, whispering, “Don’t worry, darlin, I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The three Sylphs retire to a room at the far end of the hall. 

Angry chirring and shouting begins as soon as the door shuts. Duck winces. 

“I am not really sure what he expected.”

A grey mothperson leans on the bannister, looking down at Duck. 

“I mean, it does not take future seeing abilities to know mom and dad are going to be upset with him not showing his face here for a century.”

“Given how much he was dreadin this, pretty sure he knew how things were gonna go down. I’m Duck, by the way.” He holds out his hand and the mothperson reaches to shake it.

“Al. I’m Indrid’s little sibling.”

“Oh yeah! He, uh, he’s shown me drawins of you. And talked about you a bunch. Or, uh, at least more than he talks about anythin else from his life before comin to Earth.”

An indignant screech that he knows to be Indrid’s shoots out from under the door. 

“Come on, let’s go into the kitchen. They are going to be at it for awhile.” Al gestures down another hallway and Duck follows them, arriving in room painted cozy shades of yellow and white. 

“So,” Al removes a jug from the icebox, pours two glasses of water, “you’re human.”

“Uh, yeah?” 

“And you love my brother.”

“Yep.”

“I am simply trying to understand. In the communication to he used to send us, he made it seem as though most humans found him terrifying and repulsive in his true form.”

Duck thinks back to the first time Indrid took off his glasses, “I mean, if you’ve never seen a mothperson before, it’s pretty startlin. But, well, the more time I spent with him, the more I liked him. All versions of him. The next thing I knew I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it. Sorry, that ain’t maybe the most poetic or romantic way of puttin it but it’s the truth. I love Indrid. And I wanna be with him for the rest of my life.”

“How did you even meet him?”

“He called and warned me that my friend Leo was gonna die and told me I should probably do something about that.”

Al chirps a laugh, “That sounds like Indrid alright. Always ahead. It used to make playing hide and seek with him rather difficult.”

“I can imagine.”

“Although, since he was still learning how to manage his abilities, sometimes he misjudged things terribly. He got stuck in a cabinet once.”

Duck snickers at the image and Al points behind him, “It was actually that cupboard; he got a bit panicked, so when I finally found him he was completely poofed up.”

“Awww, my poor ridiculous darlin.”

Al grins, “Did he ever tell you about the time he got stuck in the tree in the town square?”

“No.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” 

Al proceeds to regale him with story after story of Indrid’s childhood misadventures, including trying to keep a star-turtle as a pet under his bed and teaching Al how to fly loops, only to crash into a snowbank.

“Seems like he was a pretty good big brother.”

“Yeah.” Al sighs, “it made what happened later sting all the more.”

“I’m sorry. You must be pretty pissed with him.”

“You said you had a sister, yes? How do you think she would react if first you disappeared for years, and then eventually stopped communicating altogether?” 

“She’d probably call me a dickhead. And, uh, she’d be right." He scratches the back of his neck "I guess Indrid really fucked that one up."

“Yes, he did.” A clawed hand rests on Ducks shoulder.

“Gahshit, darlin I-”

“It’s alright, Duck. I won't say it is pleasant to have my errors so plain to the person I love, but goodness knows it is better that than you thinking I am perfect."

"You ain't a perfect person. But you're perfect for me."

Indrid chirps at the compliment, then turns to his sibling, "I, I am sorry, Al, I did behave like, well, a dickhead.”

The grey Sylph stands. Then launches themself into a hop towards Indrid, embracing him.

“Be that as it may, I am so very happy to see you again, big brother.” 

Duck watches Indrid stiffen at the initial contact, then hug his sibling tightly. 

“I am so sorry.”

“You should be, you jerk. But I forgive you all the same.”

Al says something else in Sylph, and Indrid chirrs, scandalized, and punches their arm playfully. 

“We ought to be going. But, ah, perhaps we can have breakfast tomorrow? Just the three of us?”

“That sounds lovely. It was nice to meet you Duck. I will see you tomorrow.”

Indrid offers Duck his arm and they make their way back to the front door. There is no sign of his parents. 

“Gettin the feelin it didn’t go so great.”

Indrid groans, “You have no idea.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

“......Anyway, after the third time accusing me of only returning for material gain, they have agreed to consider my request.” Indrid chews as piece of fruit, antennae drooping with exhaustion.

“Yeesh.” Aubrey sips her tea and Dani passes Indrid another cookie. The five of them are eating dinner out in town, Indrid offering it as a means of thanking Aubrey for giving them a place to stay. 

“Is there maybe something fun you two could do while you’re here to make up for how stressful it is?” Dani sets the plate down.

“We are meeting Al for breakfast tomorrow, which will be nice. Beyond that, I am not sure.”

“Well, think about it. Happy to stay longer if there’s somethin fun you wanna do.” Duck kisses his cheek. 

“Thank you, it might be-oh damn it all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We are about to have a visitor.” 

A tall, silver mothperson steps to their table, bowing in Indrid’s direction, “Indrid Cold, as I live and breath.” 

“How unfortunate that you’re still doing both.” Indrid mutters. 

“Allow me to introduce myself: General Rian, at your service. I’m sure Indrid has mentioned me.”

The pieces click into place for Duck, “Oh yeah, you’re the fella who only asked him to marry you because you wanted to use his powers for your own gain.”

A glare darts across Rian's face just as a smirk graces Indrid’s. 

“I was foolish then. I have had over a century to think on my misdeeds. Many times have I thought on the colors of your feathers, the elegance of your smile-”

“Oh for goodness sake.” Indrid removes his glasses from their travel pouch and slips them on. Rian immediately recoils.

“You were saying?” Indrid grins, wide and weird, and the Sylph takes a step back.

“I, ah, stars above Indrid, why wear a form that look’s so-”

“damn good.” Duck tilts Indrids chin towards him for a kiss. 

“Ah, so _you’re_ the betrothed.” 

“Damn, and I thought word traveled fast in Kepler.”

“When one of the most well-known Sylphs from this area of the kingdom becomes engaged, it is relevant news to many people.” Rian’s smile is one of grit teeth.

“Indeed.” Mister Cold appears beside Rian, accompanied by another Sylph with royal blue wings. “Which is why I consulted with several others about your requests, Indrid. And we have reached a decision.”

Duck perks up, only to see a puzzled expression on Indrid's face.

“We will recognize a marriage between you and Duck Newton. But only if the human can prove himself worthy.”

“You cannot possibly mean-”

“Yes, son. We shall be hosting a lovers gauntlet. Let us hope, Duck Newton, that you can best your challengers. Because there will be many of them.”


	4. All the Fences in Your Way

“That is absolutely and completely absurd!” Indrid stands, chair tipping back and crashing on the ground as he tears off his glasses. 

“No fuckin kiddin. Indrid ain’t a prize or some shit for me to win, he’s a grown-ass moth...man.”

“The gauntlet only makes sense if the Sylph is unsure as to who they wish to marry. That is not even remotely the case.” A wing drapes around Ducks shoulder.

“Or” Rian folds his hands behind his back, “If the family has concerns about the suitability of a given suitor.”

“Hey!” Aubrey and Duck say in unison.

“There is no one, on this world or Earth, more suited to me than Duck Newton. And I refuse to subject myself, or him, to what is clearly a bid to humiliate us. No inheritance, no tradition, is worth that. We can be married without your blessing.”

“I would not be so sure.” The blue mothperson steps forward, “Unless the gauntlet is performed, there is no one willing to perform the ceremony needed to legitimize the marriage.”

Indrid growls, “I see. Still very willing to pull strings when needed, father? Or was this your doing, general?”

The glower from Mr. Cold is answer enough.

“Uh, hi, Aubrey Little here” the magician steps in front of Indrid and Duck, “y’know, the person who carried Sylvain around for years and as been magically rebuilding your world? I don’t suppose that gives me, like, veto power here? Or like, maybe I can perform the ceremony and have it be recognized?”

“No.” Say three voices.

“Wait, really? I literally was Sylvain for awhile.” 

“Yes, so it’s been claimed.” The blue moth says mildly.

“Claimed? What the fuck, I was right there with her. I had to fight a giant fuckin planet-god thing to help her out!” Duck is truly pissed now, and the rising flames on the nearby candles suggest Aubrey is in the same state. 

“That is beside the point. The choice is yours, Indrid. If you decide you wish to continue with your requests, meet in the town square at midday tomorrow. If not, I do not wish to hear word of this union again.”

With that, the three depart. Dr Harris Bonkers makes a rude gesture at their backs. 

“Who taught you that?” Dani asks.

“Mom.” He points at Aubrey.

“....Yeah that's fine then.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Uggggggggggggggggggh.” Indrid is face down on the bed in the tree house, glasses tipped up his head to better allow him to groan into the floor. Duck sits down next to him, runs a hand up and down his back. 

“Anythin I can do to help, darlin.”

“No. And there are too many moving parts for me to see the futures clearly. Maybe we should just cut our losses and head home.”

“I mean, it’s your choice.”

“No, it is _our_ choice.” Indrid sits up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “we are partners, Duck, and soon to be husbands. Decisions such as this must take both of us into account. And agreeing to the gauntlet would require a great deal of you.”

“What does it even involve?”

“Three challenges. I, ah, am not entirely sure of the details beyond that. I never engaged in one. Too busy being trained to be court seer and all that.”

“Right. Uh, okay, on a scale of 'fight a giant hivemind' to 'try to get Winnie to take meds from the vet,' how hard are they likely to be?”

“Considerably less dangerous than the fore and markedly more frustrating than the latter.” 

“That sounds doable. If it’s really gonna humiliate to you, we duck out now. But I gotta say, kinda feel like provin that you got good taste in men. And that I ain’t inclined to back down just because someone chucked an obstacle my way.”

Indrid cocks his head, “They’ve activated 'stubborn Duck mode', haven’t they?”

“Yep. With some residual “fuck you” energy from my burnout days thrown in. If bein' married in both worlds matters to you, and all I gotta do to make that happen is face these challenges, then I say bring it the fuck on.”

“Then I m with you. I must admit, the idea of you showing your mettle and defeating challengers is a bit appealing” Indrid leans forward, kissing Duck happily, “And I have faith in your skill. You are a hard man to beat, my love. But just to be safe, we ought to get some rest.”

Soon they’re curled up on the fluffy mattress in a corner of the room, Aubrey even having thought to include extra thick blankets for Indrid's comfort. 

“Given all that is happening, are you still willing to indulge me in activities I missed doing due to my work as seer?”

“Course. What did you have in mind?”

“There is a, ah, a rite of passage I did not get to do when I was younger. It will also allow us to do some stargazing.”

“Hell yeah.” Duck grins, “Don’t suppose that rite of passage involves makin out?”

“Maybe.” Indrid purrs, nestling closer. 

“Then gauntlet or no, you and me got a date tomorrow night.”

\------------------------------------------

“This was everything I could find in the library about the gauntlet.” Al lays a small book on the table. 

“It’s in Sylph.” Indrid says as Duck reaches for it. 

“Here, I can help with that. You two focus on, like, mentally preparing for whatever the fuck is gonna happen today.” Barclay picks the book up and flips through it. He and Stern, having been brought up to speed by Dani late last night, decided to stay to be part of Duck’s cheering section. 

“Man, this is really fucking vague.” Barclay takes a sip of tea, “It just says the three challenges are to demonstrate the suitor’s ability to provide, protect, and, uh, perform. It gives examples, but it’s just a list of things it could be, not what it will be.”

“Are all mothperson customs this obtuse?” Stern turns to Indrid.

“Not particularly. I don’t suppose, Al, that you overheard our parents discussing details?”

“Nope. But I did manage to learn that for the first challenge, they’re brewing you blackthorn tea.”

“What?!” Indrid puffs up slightly. Duck pets at the feathers around his neck, hoping that will soothe him.

“They’re going to dampen your powers.” Aubrey frowns, notices Duck and Stern looking confused, “Blackthorn is a combination of three plants, it used to be a way of weakening one’s enemies because it sucked away whatever magical powers they had. It was in a book Janelle gave me.”

“Oh, darlin.” Duck whispers, drawing Indrid closer. He knows that anything messing with his future vision frightens him, reminds him of white tufts in the air and goatmen lurking behind him.

“It’s alright, my love. I will manage. Besides, some futures show it is only you, Rian, and one more person competing. Let us hope the timeline goes that direction.”

\------------------------------------------

“Drat.” Indrid glares at the line-up of nine mothpeople, all being briefed by the royal blue Sylph (Gentry, that was his name, Indrid remembers now). 

“I see you have come to your senses.” His father holds a notebook, looks up from his writing and offers Indrid the faintest nod. He offers no acknowledgement to Duck or the others. 

“No, I have come to prove to the rest of you that Duck Newton is the worthiest suitor imaginable.”

“And I’ve come to get y’all to ease the fuck off of my fiancee.” Duck steps beside him and Indrid finds it easier to stand tall. 

“Very well. Newton, join the others.” 

Duck blows Indrid a kiss as he walks to his place in the line-up. 

Gentry clears his throat, “Now that we are all here, I will explain the first challenge. It is customary that it be used to allow you each to demonstrate your ability to provide for your potential mate.”

Several in the line-up look embarrassed at the word choice. Duck is fighting off a smile.

“You will have until dusk to create or procure a gift for Indrid, something that you believe would give him great pleasure. Whoever’s gift he likes best will be the winner of this round.”

This will be simple enough; he and Duck can plan what his gift will be so Indrid can pick it out of-

Oh damn it all. 

He growls as he sees Gentry's next sentence take shape. 

“To allow for a fair competition, Indrid will be staying at his family home, alone, until this evening. Now, since we only have a few hours until dusk, I suggest you all get to work with the utmost haste.”

The line is barely broken up before Indrid is escorted away by Gentry and his father, Al trailing behind them. When they arrive at the treehouse, Gentry hands him a cup of blackthorn tea. He downs it, shudders, then walks straight to his old room without a word to anyone. 

After some deliberation as to whether he should try to sneak out or otherwise get word to Duck, or whether he should fake an illness brought on by the tea (it would not be that much of a lie; his whole being feels out of balance), he settles on using his room for it’s primary purpose during his youth.

Sulking. 

Flopped on his back on the bed, he glares at the ceiling. He had been so sure there would be few other suitors. He is middle-aged by Sylph standards and, by those same standards, not remarkable in his appearance. He is known by many of his kind as a failure, though they do not say those words. He reads it on their features and in their futures, the discussions among each other about how weak he is for only returning to Sylvain when everything is restored, rather than owning the fact he failed, the fact he chose earth over them. And because of this he knows they are not competing because they love him; they are competing to help put him in his place.

Bitterness mingles with the aftertaste of tea on his tongue. To combat it, he clutches the engagement ring on it's chain around his neck. It seemed the safest place to wear it, given his going back and forth between forms. He twirls the band on one claw, thinks of the smile on Duck’s face when he gave his answer. Of many other smiles, Duck proudly showing him a grove of trees, kissing him good morning, laughing at some absurd lie from Ned.

Somewhere in the reminiscing, he falls asleep. He’s awoken at dusk by Al poking his ribs.

“Ouch!”

“Come on, lazy bones, it’s time.” 

“Lazy? I am not the one who once slept away two entire days.”

“I was tired!” Al smiles, produces a pile of cloth from behind their back, “here, we all have to dress formally for this nonsense. They were debating making you wear something of dad’s, but I pulled the doting little sibling gambit and asked to buy you something new myself.”

“It’s lovely.” Indrid slips on the gold and green robe, Al assisting him when it gets caught on one wing.

“I thought about coming and talking with you, but it seemed as though you wanted time alone.”

“I did. I do wish this whole mess was not interrupting our ability to spend time together.”

Al grins wider, “I told dad and mom to go on ahead of us. Only partially because I want you tell me how you and Duck met without them interrupting.”

“Clever creature.” 

By the time they arrive at the town hall where the first competition will take place, Indrid feels better, and Al punches his shoulder for luck before joining the other audience members spread out on benches. The suitors sit in the front row, near a long table containing the ten gifts. He spots his friends on a bench towards the front. Aubrey and Dani wave, Barclay gives him a thumbs up, and Stern attempts an encouraging look while wrangling Dr. Harris Bonkers and a bag of snacks in his lap. 

Gentry addresses Indrid, his back to the crowd, “Before you are the offerings from your suitors. Consider each carefully before selecting the one you like best. To prevent any cheating, you will perform your selection facing away from the competitors.”

Indrid nods, turns and regards the table. He disregards the two weapons offered immediately, the two ornate robes after that, and the two pieces of gaudy jewelry next. There’s a plant coated in glittering red blossoms and shaped like a bonsai tree, that is rather lovely. Then there is a purple, fur-lined robe that is likely from Rian, and a basket of sweets that he samples from only to find them full of honeycomb. Delicious but unlikely to be from Duck. 

The final gift is another plant, reminding him of the saplings one might find in a nursery. It bears several round, smooth fruits, white with gold flecks. He takes one of the leaves between his fingers, puzzles over it’s familiarity for a moment. Then he recognizes it.

A cottonwood leaf

He picks a fruit, sensing a familiar smell. 

Can it be?

He takes a bite and chirrs with pleasure.

It tastes like eggnog. 

“This one, I pick this one.” He turns, licking juice from his palps, and Duck jumps up with a whoop. Their friends cheer in the stands. He shoves another piece of fruit into his mouth while Gentry approaches the group. 

“A fascinating creation to be sure. How did you decide upon that as your gift, Duck Newton?”

“Oh, uh, I know Indrid loves eggnog and fruit, and uh, I thought he’d get a kick outta havin both at once. So I designed it and then Aubrey magicked it up for me.”

“I see. In that case, I’m afraid that gift is disqualified.”

“Wait, why?” 

“Because you had to use someone else's magic in order to create it.”

“At least two oft he other gifts on that table were made using magic.” Indrid stands beside Duck, holding the plant protectively. 

“Yes, the magic of the Sylphs who are competing.”

“How can you be certain-”

“The decision is final. You will need to choose a new winner of this round.”

“Excuse me, but there was nothing in the rules saying Duck could not do what he did. He simply demonstrated one means of many of procuring a gift.” 

Every head whips to regard Stern, who is standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Even Barclay looks surprised. 

“There is also nothing in the rules that says he cannot be disqualified for it. As I said, the decision is final.”

Stern sits down, and he’s close enough for Indrid to hear him mutter, “see, this is why having clear rules and protocols is important.”

“Didn’t you break multiple ones helping us save the world?” Aubrey whispers

“Yes, but that was due to extenuating circumstances. Also, the UP did not have a protocol in place for ‘oh lord oh god oh no a literal apocalypse is upon us.”

Indrid sighs, handing the plant back to Duck.

“Don’t worry, darlin', had Aubrey make it so it can survive in our apartment.” He winks. Indrid chirps in thanks before heading back to the table. 

He knows he does not want Rian’s gift, nor does he want to encourage anyone who may genuinely be interested in him. The red bonsai tree catches his attention, and he recalls yet another tradition he did not participate in when he was younger. 

“This one is my second choice.” He holds the plant as he turns to see a younger Sylph with light brown feathers shrink in surprise. 

“Very well. Eldra, you are the winner of the first challenge. If you win one more, you will be the champion of the gauntlet.”

“Okay.” The wide-eyed mothperson squeaks, underscored by light applause. 

The crowd mixes with the competitors as Gentry and Indrid’s father confer. Stern and Barclay speak animatedly with a bright green mothperson, who seems to be agreeing with Stern’s assessment of the rules. Indrid takes the opportunity to approach Eldra, Duck proudly on his arm.

“Ah, ahm, I, I didn’t think, that is, I am very sorry, I-”

Indrid holds out the tree, “I believe I understand. In my younger days, it was the custom to cultivate plants in this way to give as a gift to someone we had been fond of for some time. Unless I have some sort of fan club I am not aware of, I doubt you made this with me in mind.” 

“I did not.” Eldra takes the potted plant, cradling it.

“As my future vision is finally coming back, I can tell you two things: If you drop out of this competition, you will face nothing worse than your parents being mildly annoyed at you for a day or two. And the intended recipient of that gift does indeed reciprocate your affections.”

The younger Sylph’s face lights up as he chirrs, “Thank you” and hurries from the hall.

“Ah, young love.” Indrid sighs.

“Dunno, pretty partial to my middle-aged love. Guh, that didn’t sound like the come-on I wanted it to.”

Indrid laughs, “Point taken my love. We can indulge our middle-aged love in a moment, right after they announce the next challenge.”

Gentry chirps once, sharply, and the room falls silent.

“I suggest all competitors go home and rest, for tomorrow is the ‘protection’ portion of the gauntlet. You will each be given a chance to demonstrate your capacity as warriors” he directs a smug look Ducks way, “by besting the human challenger in hand to hand combat.”


	5. You've Got More Troubles Than Minutes in the Year

“You do not seem terribly worried about tomorrow.” Indrid glances at Duck as they hike up a hill on the western edge of town. 

“I mean, in the time we’ve known each other, I’ve fought an evil tree, some goatmen, a mimic, the Quell, kinda, and a hivemind. I may not have Beacon, what with the y’know” he mimics the sound of an explosion, “but I still got my chosen strength. I like my odds.”

“The futures suggest it will likely be a sort of wrestling or boxing match.”

“Huh, guess he meant it when he said it was hand to hand. Yeah, think I got this.” He takes Indrid’s hand, enjoying the familiar feel of cool skin, the Sylph having switched into his human form for this outing. 

They reach the top of the hill, a clump of moon willows giving way to a clearing. Below them, the lights of town create shadow puppets of the houses. Above, the stars offer alien clusters of constellations. Indrid sits on a patch of mossy grass, patting the spot beside him. 

Duck sits, resting his hand atop Indrids, “So, what was so important about this spot?”

“It was one of my favorite places to draw. I liked how peaceful it was, how much you could see, all the different perspectives. The only downside was that sometimes I would get chased off. By, ah, young couples.”

“I fuckin knew it! You brought me to moth make-out point.” Duck guffaws at the blush coating Indrid's face.

“Yes.” He mumbles, kissing the human’s nose. 

“Wait, you _never_ came here with a date?”

“Never.” Indrid picks a small white flower, twirls it between his fingers “I know it’s silly to have such an attachment to kissing here. Goodness knows I had plenty of romantic trysts during my life, with you and with others here in Sylvain. But I always thought this was the most enchanting place to kiss someone, especially when one is young and newly in love. Now, I know we are neither, but-ohhhhhmmmmm.” He goes down easily as Duck rolls onto the ground, pulling Indrid on top of him. 

“Heh” Duck pulls back from the kiss, “you still taste like nog.”

“Apologies.”

“Kinda like it. Reminds me of kissin you for the first time.” Duck kisses his neck and Indrid chirps. 

“Never get tired of hearin those sounds. Or lookin at you from this angle .”

A shy chirr, “You’re rather sweet tongued tonight.”

“You wanted it to be like young love remember? Don’t tell no one, but teenage me was flowery little fucker.”

“Really.” Indrid nips his earlobe, sending little chills racing down his shoulders, “the man who’s always ready with a hug, who has goodness knows how many pet names for me, and who picked out a hamster because it was the runt of the litter, has a soft side? What a turn of events.”

“Hush.” Duck giggles into his shoulder and flips them onto their sides, “and who told you about Trent the hamster?”

“Jane.”

“Damn her.”

“So, my sweet-hearted one, what shall we do now?” Indrid hooks his ankle around Ducks calf. Duck knows that there are condoms, lube, and rather fancy massage candle waiting for them back at their lodgings (“Jesus, did Aubrey think of everything?” “Oooh, it’s cotton candy scented!”). But here, face glowing and strangely lovely under the light of two moons, is Indrid. Indrid, with a smile that makes him look young and carefree. Indrid, who no doubt had other paths to this moment, other people to share it with, and yet chose, after over a century of waiting, to share it with Duck. 

He strokes his pale hair, and pulls them chest to chest, “Right now, darlin, I wanna lay here and kiss you til you see more stars than are up in that sky.”

\--------------------------------------  
“I’m just saying, bringing in someone who excels at talking, or bribing, circles around most people may not be a bad plan.” Stern says this as Indrid wraps Ducks hands, making him hum the theme from "Rocky." 

“If I have to worry about Ned Chicane accidentally starting some sort of inter-Sylph conflict because he tried to bribe the wrong person over to our side, it will not add to my overall mental health.” Indrid checks the wraps, seems pleased with his handiwork. 

“So is this like boxin?” Duck looks over at the chalk circle drawn on the ground. They’re in an outdoor stadium, smaller than Kepler High's football field and full of mothpeople waiting to see Duck get his ass handed to him. 

“Mixed martial arts may be a better comparison. You are allowed to do everything except hit an opponent's private areas or use your wings for flight. Each fight is three rounds.”

“Right, so all I gotta do is win 24 fights. Easy.” Duck sighs, removing his shirt as his first opponent stretches out their wings. 

“No, you only have to win the majority of them. Thirteen rounds altogether.” Indrid clicks his claws together, antennae twitching as if searching for a radio signal. 

“Are all Sylph courtships so...aggressive?” Stern glances at Barclay.

“Not really? I mean, where I come from, we don’t have anything like this.”

“What do you do instead?”

“Cook to show our love.” Barclay takes his boyfriends hand, leading them to their seats. Aubrey and Dani each hug Duck (Dr.Harris Bonkers is at home with a sitter in spite of his protests, Aubrey deeming the fight too potentially violent for him to watch).

“You got this. Show them what the Pine Guard is made of.”

Indrid turns to him, cupping his face, “My love, I see more than a few opponents willing to put up a decent fight. When you’re out there, please, remember-”

“What I’m fightin for? Don’t worry, no way in hell I could forget.” He takes one hand, kissing the fuzz-dusted knuckles.

“I appreciate the sentiment. But I was going to say ‘remember what Leo and Minerva taught you. They are the warriors among us, after all.” He bumps their heads together one final time, and retreats to his assigned seat. It’s meant to isolate him from the suitors, but those organizing the fight have not prevented Aubrey and the others from sitting directly behind him. 

Gentry steps into the middle of the circle, addressing the crowd, “The second challenge will test the suitors ability to protect a partner. Given the unique circumstances of this gauntlet, we have modified the rules. Each of the remaining eight Sylphs will take their turn attempting to best the human Duck Newton in hand to hand combat. One is defeated if they lose two of the three rounds of the fight. Rounds are won by keeping an opponent on the ground, either with your body or with a blow, for a count of seven. A fighter may forfeit at any point after the conclusion of the first round. The first opponent to defeat Duck Newton will be considered the winner of this challenge.”

“Wait, it ain’t just a matter of me winnin more than I lose?”

“No.”

“Fuck.” 

“Let the first challenger approach.” Gentry steps away and tall, coppery mothperson takes a place at the other side of the circle. They bow to Duck, and he returns the gesture. No need to be rude, after all.

_“Look, sometimes you get disarmed and you’re gonna have to keep goin”_

He takes the stance Leo taught him for close combat . His opponent charges, and he dodges both the body blow and the attempt to knock him over with a wing. As he slides, he notices that the coppery feathers block the Sylphs vision for a count of two when they shoot out towards him. 

_“Blind spots, Duck Newton. All your enemies have them.”_

He circles, coaxing another wingstrike from his opponent. In the seconds they cannot see, he sweeps his leg out and knocks them down, throws his full weight after them. There’s a pained chirp and feathers catch his arms, but by the call of “seven” the mothperson is still flat on the ground. 

Duck hops off of them, offers his hand once they roll over. 

“Thank you.” They take it, standing with a wince, before turning to Gentry and the referee, “I yield. That hurt like none other, and I prefer my ribcage remain intact.” He bows to Duck again and departs back to the stands.

Next is a green-grey mothperson, black eyespots striking when he opens his wings to bow. As they stake their stances, he winks. 

Then he charges with an exaggerated hiss, and Duck braces to dodge. 

He doesn't have to. The Sylph pulls up short, letting his arm bump into Duck’s hand. Then he flops backward, wings flapping pitifully in the dust. 

“Oh woe is me. I am brought low.”

Duck stifles a laugh in his arm as the referee counts, albeit reluctantly at first. 

“..seven. The human wins the first round.”

“What a shame, I forfeit, tell Al I say hello.” The green sylph bows, grinning all the while. 

The next opponent, grey with blue spots, does more or less the same thing, bumping his foot into Ducks before collapsing on the ground with theatrical cries of defeat. And as soon as he forfeits, he whispers, “put in a good word for Al for me, if you can.”

Duck bows to a large, dark grey mothperson as he wonders how many of his opponents are planning to throw the fight. Aubrey’s voice cuts through the thrum of sounds.

“Duck, look-”

He hits the ground, skidding on his side. The sylph is on him, viper-quick, and their positions have him struggling for the leverage he needs to break free. He’s so busy fighting that he doesn’t hear the count-out until it hits seven.

“Shit.”

The sylph stands, crossing back to his side of the circle, the crowd cheering louder than feels strictly necessary. He takes a drink from a mug offered by another Sylph. one who shares his shading and color. 

When the next round begins, Duck is ready. He holds his ground as they collide, rams his shoulder into a solid chest. Kicking at the legs is tempting, but he doesn’t want to make it easier to get him off his feet. 

The wraps catch at a hangnail, reminding him of their presence. Well, if he’s decked out for boxing…

He feints with his left, throws his right hook as hard as (super)humanly possible, and the Sylph drops, stays down for the count, and refuses Duck’s help up.

“Do either of you wish to yield?” Gentry looks at Duck expectantly. 

“Not a chance.”

“No.” growls the other Sylph, limping back towards his side. 

A mug of water appears in his periphery and he jumps.

“Coaches are not allowed, apparently, but it seems waterboys are.”

“Stern, what-”

“You can’t see it from where you are, but he favors his right side considerably, and drops his defenses on his left as soon as he attacks you.” He takes the mug back, smiles, “the others may have battle experience, but I’ve done more one on one combat training than I care to mention. You aren’t allowed to be a special agent unless you’re prepared for someone trying to kill you.”

“Take your positions!” 

Stern hurries back to his seat, and Duck plants his feet. This time, when the attack comes, he pivots and sees immediately that Stern was right. There’s a gap in the Sylphs defense on his left, and it’s the perfect size for Ducks fist. The jab he throws connects, and the other fighter goes down with a pained hiss. 

Four down, four to go. 

The fifth and sixth opponents yield after he beats them easily in the first round (throwing one across the circle was maybe overkill, but the dickhead did bite him really hard). On the seventh, he loses the first round but recovers on the second thanks to Stern bringing him water and an observation that his opponent flinches whenever Duck comes too close to his stomach, so perhaps he should aim for the injury that is likely in that spot.

His opponent takes a knee to the stomach, and promptly yields. 

Rian is the last challenger, which is no surprise to Duck. If the others couldn’t beat him, it makes sense that Gentry and whoever else is trying to stop Indrid and Duck from marrying would save their best competitor for when he’s had to deal with seven other fights. 

Unlike the others, Rian takes his time, the two of them circling as he looks Duck over. His posture remains relaxed, but Duck knows better than to mirror him. It’s likely what he’s waiting for. He wants Duck to either drop his guard or attack first, which might give away a weakness. Rian wants to play a waiting game. 

Good thing Duck is stubborn. 

He keeps his stance, keeps his arms ready to strike or counter.

“Oh, very well.” Rian sighs, before puffing up and charging, wings out. They connect, grappling, kicking up dirt and chalk and feathers. 

“You may have many fooled, but there are those of us who know the truth.” Rian manages through clenched teeth. 

Duck doesn’t respond, stomps on Rian's foot, getting him a growl but no opening to attack further. 

“We know what really happened between our worlds, what your magician friend truly did. We know why you opened the gate once more.”

“You come here to talk, or to fight? Because I only got the patience for one.” Duck shoves, pushing them apart, but fails to knock Rian down. They collide again, but this time as he blocks a swipe of claws a wing whacks his skin and spins him, disorienting him enough that Rian gets him to his knees. 

“It all makes sense, your designs on Indrid, the cover up. He is a valuable asset.”

“I _love_ him you asshole, I ain’t after him for whatever fucked-up reason you seem to think.”

“What a charming lie. Very noble.”

Even as he fights the hold, claws press against his windpipe. The crowd is cheering, though he can hear some shouts of protest, and a few of encouragement to him. But mainly he hears:

“If you allow Rian to break the rules by choking him, I will break them by driving him into that wall until his wings snap off.”

Indrid is seldom threatening, and Duck knows his tones well enough to know that is not a bluff. 

Still, he’d rather Indrid not have to deal with his ex anymore than necessary. And Minerva did teach him a way out of this kind of hold. 

He shuts his eyes and goes limp. Rian chuckles, releasing him. 

Then shrieks when Ducks foot catches him under his jaw. As he reels in pain Duck spins on his knees and throws his shoulder, then his elbow, into the Sylphs chest.

Rian stays on the ground well past the count of seven, only stands with the help of two others, muttering Sylph curse words and grudgingly yielding. 

Duck wipes his face with his hand, finds a streak of red from a cut on his cheek.

“There” he says to Gentry, “I beat all of ‘em. Believe that makes me the winner.”

Gentry smiles for the first time, and Duck decides he hates the expression, “well…not quite.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh for goodness--this is ridiculous.” Indrid stands, undoing his robe while his friends look on in alarm. 

“What’s wrong? Didn’t Duck just win?” Dani cranes her neck, trying to lipread what Gentry is saying to the other Sylph competitors. 

“He did. But they are going to keep the fights going until he loses or, in a rapidly growing number of futures, is badly injured.”

“How-”

“Gentle audience, I request you all remain seated, as the competition is not yet complete. You see, any challenger who was beaten will be permitted to try again, or to ask another ‘champion’ to act in their stead.”

“Are you fuckin kiddin?” Duck’s indignant shout is echoed by Barclay and Aubrey.

“This can’t be in the rules.” Stern mutters. 

He’s right, of course. In between fights, other mothpeople of more sympathetic dispositions discussed past gauntlets with them, allowing Indrid and his friends to piece together how the event would proceed. 

But if Gentry and the others wish to bend the rules, so be it. 

“Just a moment.” He puts on his most regal voice, and the arena goes gravestone quiet. 

“Before you move on to that portion, I wish to challenge the suitor myself.”

“Ah, well, that is-”

“After all, I feel it is important we be well matched. And since this entire circus is, ostensibly, for my benefit, I believe I am entitled to such a demand.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple out from behind him. Gentry shifts, uncomfortable, before holding up is hands, “Very well. If you wish to fight the human, so be it.”

Indrid wraps his hands quickly, takes his position across from a befuddled Duck. 

“Am I supposed to take a dive or somethin?”

“No,” Indrid steps towards him as the round begins, “pretend we are sparring, do your best to win. I will beat you regardless.”

“Gonna use those powers on me, darlin?”

“No, I intend to win fair and square. I may not be a warrior like those who trained you, but I also happen to know you have barely a year of training behind you. Also, I know where you are ticklish.”

Duck flicks his head to clear his view of sweat. He’s flushed and utterly intimidating, split-lipped smile tempting Indrid’s tongue to flick across it. 

“Do your worst.” He growls, grin never waning, and Indrid feels the feathers of his shoulders and chest puffing up instinctively in response to the challenge in his voice. 

He lunges, trying to sweep Duck into his grasp but the human spins away. His wing shoots out instead, batting him off-balance and sending him tipping backwards over Indrids extended foot.

“Honestly, all the others went for strength. I love you, my sweet, but speed is your weakAHHow.” Duck yanks him onto the ground, clambering on top of him to pin his arms down and his wings behind his back.

“You were sayin?” He tugs a sensitive patch of feathers and Indrid growls. With all his might, he extends his wings against the ground, the force propelling him forward and reversing their positions. He traps the humans hands above his head with one hand, presses his abdominals down with his other arm, and pins his legs under his own. 

“Well” Duck pants into his feathers as the referee counts to seven, “fuck.”

“Do you yield?” Indrid sits up, cocking his head.

“Not a fuckin chance.” Duck hops up, undressing Indrid with his gaze, only returning to his position only when waved there by Gentry.

“Begin!”

Indrid dives forward eagerly, realizes his error when Duck uses his momentum to fling him over his shoulder. He tumbles end over end with a chirp of alarm. The futures flicker unbidden as his brain rattles, giving him a chance to head off Duck’s comment of concern.

“I am fine!”

Duck exhales in relief. Then he tackles him. Indrid manages to sit up, Duck functionally riding on his back.

“Kinda hard to reach me here huhOW!” Duck loosens his grip when Indrid scratches him, has the sense to stifle the moan that follows. 

Indrid throws them sideways, hoping to loosen him more and enable himself to turn in his grip. It takes a few more scratches and a bite (a small one) to accomplish his goal. He flips them again, only for Duck to do the same a moment later. If he’s being entirely honestly, he’s impressed with how easily Duck moves him in his Sylph form. 

They tussle a few moments more, before Indrid lands Duck on his stomach and keeps him trapped for the needed count of seven. 

“I win.” He purrs in the rangers ear.

“No fuckin kiddin.” The tempo of Duck’s pants have changed, as has the grip on Indrids hand.

“Indrid is the victor.” Gentry announces as they stand, “Which means, ah, well, we shall decide what it means shortly.”

“Take all the time you need.” Indrid scoops Duck into his arms, “Both of your victors are done for the day, and shall be elsewhere. Farewell.”

With that, he takes to the sky. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Indrid rarely flies him anywhere, and Duck exhilarates in the feeling of the wind on his face and the colors of the landscape streaming by beneath them. In spite of the abrupt take off, the landing is smooth and gentle, Indird holding him close and chirring affectionately as he opens the door. 

“Damn, darlin, you ain’t a half-bad fighter. Almost as good as me.” He teases while Indrid shuts the door behind them, back to the Sylph as he tries to remember with door leads to the shower. 

“How generous of you to say. However…”

Duck hits the floor with a thud, Indrid looming above him. 

“There’s another activity beginning with F I wish to do with you. Right now.”


	6. You're Trying to Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al misdirects. Indrid fights. Duck gets tied up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the references to mothpeople using fighting as a means of flirtation intrigues you, check out the excellent "Sunwarmed" by Tikkiwami.

“Pants. Off. Now.” Indrid’s voice sounds odd in his ears, gruffer than normal, but given the speed with which his pants are tossed towards the bed, Duck doesn’t seem to mind.

“You been holdin out on me about your kinks, darlin?” The human reclines on the floor, smirking at him.

“No.” Indrid flips him over unceremoniously, leans down and starts undoing his wraps, “I am as surprised by this as you are. I never engaged in this ritual either.”

“Ritual what now?” Duck waggles his hips, grinding against Indrid and making him growl. 

It takes a moment to form a full thought through the desire fogging his brain, “There was a tradition, one that is now faded away, that Sylphs of my type who were interested would have what is functionally a brawl in order to pick a mate. It was more playfighting than anything, and in most cases Sylphs who participated already had their eye on someone, and there were ways to signal if you were not interested in sleeping with a given person. Apparently, fighting with you in that has tripped whatever instinct lead to the existence of that ritual in the first place.”

“No complaints here, oh _damn_.” Duck lifts his head, taking in the fact his wraps , half-unwound, are now tied around the table legs. 

“Can’t have you running off.” Indrid squeezes his ass once before rummaging through a nearby drawer for the lube. 

“Not a fuckin chance. I accept my fate. I have been bested by a, uh, truly mighty warrior.” The solemn tone cracks into giggles as soon as Duck looks back at him.

“What?”

“You’re all poofed up again. Didn’t even get that way durin your super-horny-period.”

“It has more to do with adrenaline.” He runs a hand down Ducks back, gently, “oh dear, even with your extra durability, it seems you got scratched and bruised a bit during the fights.”

“Eh, had worse. And it was worth it, because I was doin it for you.” Duck sighs, turning his cheek against the floor, as Indrid continues skating his hands along the muscles of his back.

“My sweet Duck. Perhaps I shall kiss them better for you.” He leans down, licking along the red marks, nuzzling the unmarred patches with his forehead. 

“Or perhaps...I shall add to them.”

“Wh-ohFUCK, shit, Indrid.” Duck presses against him as he sucks a hickey onto the back of his neck. 

“Do you yield?” He purrs, tongue dragging along Ducks jaw.

“I’m naked with my ass in the air, what do you fuckin thiIIInkohfuckdothatagain.”

Indrid chuckles, teases his cock beneath Ducks once more, making sure he feels it pulse in anticipation of fucking him, “No need to be a sore loser, my love.”

“M’not, fuck darlin, please.”

“With pleasure.” He slicks a handful of lube along his cock, wiping the residue on Ducks leg and grinning when he shudders in surprise and whines.

“Are you, uh, fuck, are you just gettin right to it?”

“Yes. I have no patience for other means of warming up. I’ll take my time, my sweet, not to worry, and use my powers too to be sure you won’t be hurt.”

He waits a moment, gives Duck the chance to say no, in spite of there being no futures where he does, feels the human go pliant beneath him with a little moan.

“That’s it my sweet, let me reward you for your bravery.” He nudges the head of his cock, testing the resistance and give, savoring the groan Duck gives when he manages the first inch.

“This a reward or a defeat, make up your mind darlinnnnoh, shit, call it whatever you want just don’t dare fuckin stop.” The teasing tone gives way to whimpers, and Indrid sits up a third of the way in, slowly drags his hips back and forth.

“Honestly” he keeps his voice nonchalant, knowing full well it works Duck up to speak that way while fucking him into the floorboards, “they continually yammer on about me needing a suitably capable mate, as if what I truly need is not simply someone who will turnover on his belly for me with a snap of my fingers.”

Duck snickers, “Awful, uhn, rich, c-comin from the fella who dropped to his knees soon as I got ho--oh fuck--ome last week because he worked himself up thinkin about me in my uniform.”

“Balance is important in a relationship.” He leans forward, slides his tongue along Ducks neck, “as is riding you until you scream.”

“God _DAMN_.” Duck thuds a fist into the floor when Indrid thrusts all the way in.

“Mmmmmmm.” Indrid moves his hips side to side, wanting Duck to feel every inch of him, “May I go harder, love?”

“Fuck, please, AHFUCK, Indrid.” His fingers twist into the improvised restraints, “Hard as you want, darlin, I want you to fuckin _take_ me.”

Indrid chirpmoans, presses their cheeks together, an outlet for the affection surging through him.

“First things first.” He rips off a piece of his own handwraps, “Open your mouth. The others are arriving home in the next few moments, and they will most definitely hear you if we don’t gag you.”

Duck parts his lips, let’s Indrid secure the gag, kissing the top of his hand while his does. When he’s done, Indrid rests his arms on either side of Ducks head.

Then he jams into him so hard that the ranger slides forward, yelping ecstatically. 

“Goodness, I, I’d forgotten just how tight and warm you are when I’m in this form. I adore it, you know, feeling your body stretch just for me, how needy you become when you, ahn, remember just how much bigger than you I am. But you like that, you like being just for me, being my mate, knowing you are at my mercy, don’t you?”

A broken moan.

“ _Don’t you_?” He growls, yanking Duck’s head back using the gag. A new sound joins the thudding of his cock into the human’s ass and the scrambling of their hands and feet on the ground; a beloved drawl, babbling garbled words of affirmation, mixed with pleading sobs of pleasure. 

“That’s a good human, my love, my Duck, oh, oh” laughs with wicked delight as Duck spills, untouched, across the floor, “you _do_ find that enjoyable.” He holds the shaking, sturdy body close, rams into it as hard as he dares, cooing reassurance whenever Duck jolts or whimpers from the over-stimulation. Tightens his grip as he comes, the words “I love you” barely decipherable in his trill. 

As they lay panting, side by side, he undoes Ducks bonds and the gag, allowing the human to burrow into his embrace.

“Fuck, wore me out more than all the fightin today combined.”

“Good, now that the adrenaline is gone, we shall have an easier time resting up for tomorrow.”

Duck yawns, nodding.

“We should move to the bed, and cover up at least a little. Barclay will be here soon to drop off dinner, and we only just finished apologizing to him for the ‘hot springs’ incident.”

“Five more minutes of mothman cuddles?”

Indrid nuzzles his forehead, chirring happily, “Of course.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“Better the challenge got declared null than them deciding to just randomly assign a winner.” Dani spoons berries into her oatmeal.

“Agreed. When I looked at the futures before declaring I wanted to fight, I saw an even split between them calling Duck the winner, or scrapping the whole thing.”

“You aren’t concerned about putting the fate of the entire gauntlet on one challenge?” Stern sips his tea, the most caffeinated one in Aubrey’s kitchen.

“I have faith in my champion.” Indrid smiles at Duck, and the expression floods him with love. Love, and the terrifying weight of responsibility.

Al gags, “Brother please, why must you be so ooey gooey in your courtship?”

“You will understand when you are older.”

“Speakin of which, do you know any of the other challengers?”

The younger Sylph’s eyes widen, “Ah, uh, I know two of them. The ones that threw their fights.”

“Thought as much. They asked me to put in a good word with you.” Duck is flashing back to teasing Jane about her first boyfriend, though he doubts Al is as willing to jab him with a fork if he doesn’t lay off when he should. 

“Really?” Indrid smiles wide, turning all his attention to Al, “Are they nice? Do you like them? Are they related to anyone I know?”

“N-um, ah,” Al whirls in their chair, “Aubrey, any ideas on what Rian told Duck?”

“Nope. I mean, we’ve covered a huge amount of Sylvain while I was helping restore it. If there were some sort of, like, conspiracy theory floating around, I think we would have heard of it before. But, just to be safe, I’m having Thacker do some research and Janelle will keep her ears open in the city, oooh, Barclay, the scones are super good.”

“Thanks.” The cook wipes his hands on the novelty “hot stuff” apron Aubrey had in her kitchen, “Wanted to do something sweet and hearty, but that wouldn’t take forever so we can get to the briefing on the gauntlet in time.”

“Good thinking.” Stern finishes his tea, “So, Al, about those other Sylphs.” 

Al makes a startled chirr and Stern chuckles, “In spite of the times the Pine Guard proved otherwise, I am not prone to falling for distractions or conversational misdirection.”

“Just pretty faces.” Aubrey teases.

“I, I think they are both attractive and they have both expressed interest in me. Was that sufficient?”

“Awww, you are all grown up.” Indrid hugs his sibling.

“I am only two decades younger than you!” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The final briefing takes place at wide open meadow on the edge of the woods. Several of the challengers are still nursing their bruises from the day before.

Gentry claps his hands to get their attention, “The final challenge, and, due to various circumstances, the deciding challenge, is the category of ‘performance.’ We have decided to follow tradition, and have it be a performance in flight. Each suitor with perform an aerial display. The winner will be whoever Indrid chooses to take flight and dance with,”

Duck raises his hand, “Uh, what are you supposed to do if you ain’t able to fly?”

“Either make a rather embarrassing attempt, or drop out of the gauntlet, I imagine.” Gentry replies smugly. 

Indrid’s voice is icily frustrated, “How is that the least bit fair? You have designed a challenge in which one of the competitors literally cannot compete.”

“There is nothing in the rules that says we cannot do that.”

“How is not implied?! Oh, nevermind, very well. Duck, come on, we will think of something before tonight.”

Duck begins following him, only for Gentry to interrupt, “Indrid, to prevent favoritism, you will once again be kept at your family home until the competition begins.”

Indrid turns on the elder, and for a moment Duck is afraid he may actually attack him. Instead, he raises his head high, and stares him down, “Fine. But if anyone attempts to make me drink that wretched tea again, I will bite off their hand.” With that he storms towards town, stopping only to kiss Ducks knuckles.

Duck watches him go, murmurs proudly, “That’s my Indrid.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid has been pacing for hours, non-stop, because if he does not direct his enraged energy somewhere, he will do something rash. 

Unfortunately, according to the futures, it appears his parents do not have the good sense to leave him alone.

“Indrid.”

He doesn’t stop at the sound of his fathers voice.

“Indrid, there is no need to behave this way.” His mother, faux understanding in her voice.

“If you honestly believe that, than I surrender all hope of you ever understanding why I have made this choice.” He glowers at both of them. 

“Son, we are only doing what is best for you. We do not want you to become a pawn in someone else's game. I am sure your feelings for the human-”

“ _Duck_ ” Indrid corrects, baring his teeth a moment more than needed. 

“-are quite real. And no doubt he has expressed his affection to you in a way that feels convincing. But it is false love, Indrid, surely you see that.” His father steps forward and Indrid holds up a hand to keep him from coming closer.

“Putting aside the very salient fact that Duck Newton cannot lie to save his life, I would hope that after all my years you had learned to trust my judgment a bit more than that.”

“Why should we? Ever since you chose to remain on earth, we have wondered where we went wrong. Even if you feel affection for humans, the truth is they cannot feel the same for you. A human cannot love Sylvain, or her children, they way Sylphs can.”

A chill hits his veins as he sees the answer to his question coming even as he asks it, “How can you say that when it was a human who carried Sylvain and helped restore her? Humans who helped prevent the end of her.”

His mother sighs, “We had hoped you had not so easily bought into their lies. That with all your abilities you knew the truth. The humans did not save Sylvain, they have merely tried to ensure her end.”

For a moment all he wants is to crumple, to hide under the covers from the futures those words have revealed to him. Instead he stands his ground. 

“I am not going to dignify that nonsense with a debate. Now get out.”

“Indrid-”

“Out!” 

“Not to interrupt your ‘conversation,’ but it is time for us to return to the meadow.” Al stands in the door, hands behind their back, gazing disapprovingly at their parents. Indrid leaves at once, Al hurrying to catch up. 

In between all the new, worrying futures, he wonders if Duck was able to come up with some way to enter the competition. Skateboarding, perhaps? Humans can get very high doing tricks on a skateboard. Or maybe he had Aubrey magic him up a trampoline to 'fly' on in leaps and bounds. Or maybe….

Maybe he has chosen not to come. 

Because Indrid is at the field, and all the other competitors are stretching their wings. And there is no sign of Duck. 

Frantically, he scans the crowd, and while a few figures wave to him, none of them have the face he is looking for. 

He’s not here. Duck has given up on winning. He is not even willing to try. And Indrid cannot blame him. Why would Duck Newton bother playing a game rigged against him and suffer the humiliation of such a clear defeat just for Indrid?

A clawed hand taps his shoulder, and he turns to find a mothperson looking at him anxiously.

“Please, whatever you are about to say, save it for later. I am not in the mood to discuss, well, more or less anything right now.”

The Sylph flutters their wings, deep green with gold patterning, nervously. 

“I mean, I can give you space if you need me to. But I came over to ask you what you think of my new look. Darlin.”


	7. Flying, Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck takes flight. Indrid makes things clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like Moth! Duck, I recommend "Duck the Mothperson" by TikkiWami.

Indrid goes perfectly still, marveling at the details he missed in the midst of his worry. The eyes, now much larger and glowing gently, each a different color. The green feathers the exact shade Duck always wears when he’s trying to look his best. And, standing out against them, the dark of Indrid's engagement gift around his neck. 

“So, uh, how do I look?” Duck spreads his wings, chirping shyly and surprising them both with the sound. Indrid looks him over slowly. He wants to run his claw through each and every feather, grip them in fistfuls while Duck is on top of him. 

“Incredible.” He purrs, offering Duck his hands. 

“Aubrey’ll be happy to hear that. It’s her first time tryin to make a disguise charm.”

“I’m very impressed. It suits you remarkably well.” He brushes the fluff around Ducks neck, “I cannot believe you and she went to all that trouble for me.”

“There ain’t much I wouldn’t do for you, you know that.”

“You are, what’s the term you always use, ah yes, a cornball.”

“Nah, now I’m a poofball.” Duck puffs up, golden tips of his down catching the dying light. 

“Indrid, the challenge is about to begin. And since there is no sign of Duck Newton-”

“Actually, Gentry, he’s right here.” Indrid gestures to Duck, who waves.

“Have you really stooped so low as to rope in an impostor?”

Duck lifts his left hand, removing a golden ring from his middle finger, and the disguise vanishes. Gentry is still wide-eyed and stammering when Duck returns to his moth form. 

“This is unacceptable, there, the rules-”

“Nothing in the rules states that he cannot do this.” Indrid grins, savoring each of those words like candy. 

Gentry’s mouth flaps ineffectively for a moment before he gives up, “Fine. Come, Duck Newton. It is time to begin.”

Duck tries to kiss him, finds a forehead bump is a more effective goodbye in his Sylph form, and then joins the other competitors. 

“You have no idea how long he spent getting used to that form.” Barclay steps next to Indrid, Stern on his arm and Dr. Harris Bonkers on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, it only took me like, a half hour to make the charm work and look the way he wanted it to. The rest of it was him practicing walking around without knocking a dozen things over with his increased size and his wings.” Aubrey steps to his other side, Dani’s hand in her own, looking rightly proud of herself. 

“It did take me some time to get used to my human form when I first got it.”

“Ditto, I kept ducking when I didn’t need to.” Barclay chuckles lightly.

“Thank you, Aubrey, for being such a help to Duck. And really, I owe you all thanks for supporting us through this.”

“We’re your friends, you big feathery goofball, it’s what we do.” Dani reaches across Aubrey’s shoulder to punch him playfully on the arm. 

“Suitors, positions!” Gentry booms from the center of the wide circle formed by the competitors. Duck is at the farthest point from Indrid, wings twitching with nervous energy. Nerves that are, quite suddenly, contagious.

“Did he...practice flying at all?” Indrid glances side to side at his friends. 

“Nope.” Aubrey anxiously flicks a spark from finger to finger as they all develop a simultaneous fear of what the next thirty seconds might hold.

“Oh dear.”

“Begin!”

Eight of the nine figures take off in streaks of color, twisting and turning on their ascent. Duck takes off like a fledgling hawk that’s certain the ground is lava. When he’s level with the tree tops, he wobbles, wings refusing to cooperate in carrying him higher. 

“Shit” Aubrey takes a spell casting stance and Indrid spreads his wings, preparing to shoot across the field.

Instead, a joyful whoop comes into the futures, echoing from Ducks mouth a moment later as he corrects his balance and spins higher, wings flapping powerfully. 

“Thank the lord.” Stern hunches forward with a sigh, and Aubrey slumps against Dani with a “phew.”

High above them, Rian and a few others dive and pirouette in the air. Closer to the ground, the two younger Sylphs do much the same, though they stay in Al’s sightline rather than Indrid’s. 

Indrid only knows these things because the futures supply them. In the present, has eyes for nothing except the green and gold figure growing bolder and bolder with each wingstroke. 

He takes off, flying low to avoid the others. He will allow for no confusion, no obfuscation, no tricks or surprises this time; Duck is his intended, his beloved, and he will be by his side.

As he flies, he muses that fate is an odd thing for him. He has seen so many timelines for himself, so many different potential versions of the same universe, has struggled his whole existence to understand when something is changeable and when something is destined. Nearly gave up in the face of unalterable, only for someone to swear to him he would stop it. Duck Newton has never given fate the same power Indrid has. 

Still, as he flies to him, he feels the conviction that if he were to shut his eyes, the strings of universe would still pull him to his destination. That no matter what the timelines have shown him, he could hit reset on the world, find himself in a thousand alternate times and places, and still the two of them would find one another.

Perhaps that is foolishness.

Right now, he cannot bring himself to care if it is. Because Duck is in front of him, laughter raining down into the trees as he catches him in the most graceless, and most loving, embrace ever seen in Sylvain. 

“Hey, darlin.”

“Hello, my love.” Indrid circles him in the air, surges with pride when Duck easily maneuvers to follow.

“Y’know, this was a pretty harebrained scheme even for us, but goddamn if it ain’t workin out well.”

“You are truly a sight.”

“I’m fuckin flyin! This is so fuckin cool.”

“It is, isn’t it.” He gazes out. He has not seen a thriving Sylvain from this angle in over a century. 

“View's even better now that you’re here.”

Indrid chirps a laugh, rolling his eyes. Duck barrel rolls, laughing louder when he completes it.

“Jesus, how come you don’t just fly everywhere?”

“Tourists. And, until recently, the FBI.” He holds out his hands, “Come, the others have finally seen I will choose no one but you.” He nods down to were the other suitors stand, faces upturned, in defeat. 

“Do we just land, or is there somethin special we need to do?”

“Put a hand on my shoulder and the other on my waist. Yes, exactly.” Indrid does the same, noticing Duck’s down is extra-warm, “we’re going to spin, like we would if we were dancing at the lodge. Let yourself slow down little by little, matching me.”

Duck watches him in full concentration, syncing their wingbeats as they twirl down and down, until at last the sweetgrass and small white flowers tickle their feet. 

“I love so much, darlin.” Duck’s whisper becomes a loving chirr which he then repeats, amused with his newfound means of communication.

“I love you too.” Indrid cups his cheek, and the cheering crowd may as well be on mars for how much attention he gives it. 

“Come along, my love. The gauntlet is finished. And I think it’s time we went home.”

\-----------------------------------------

Duck would have gladly stayed for a celebration, but he knows being in his old home town as been more trying for Indrid than it has for Duck. So, once Gentry begrudgingly declares him the winner of the gauntlet, they gather their things and head back, first through the gate and then to the apartment. 

He switches back to being human while Indrid confers with his parents, who simply say they will be in touch with him about the needed preparations for recognizing the marriage in Sylvain. Indrid does the same before they step through the gate, emerging as nothing more remarkable than Duck Newton, park ranger, and Indrid Cold, local weirdo. 

Stern and Barclay accompany them as far as the lodge, waving as they pull off onto the main road in Duck’s car. When they reach home, Indrid carries their bags, plus the eggnog plant, into the apartment, while Duck reads the note left on the counter.

_Fed Winnie, made sure that one plant in the corner wasn’t dying._

_-Leo_

_PS: Crossfit Thurs?_

Duck smiles, makes a note to himself to meet Leo at the gym. Then he heads into the bedroom, “Well, Indrid, how do feel like celebra-” 

Indrid is sprawled on the bed, chirpsnoring and only half changed into his pajamas. 

“Yeah,” Duck pulls off his shirt and tugs off his socks and pants, “Think you got the right idea.” With that, he crawls onto the bed and pulls a thick blanket around them both. 

“Sleep tight, darlin, you deserve a rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shorter chapter. I split the original chapter 7 into two parts, because part two is taking awhile to finish and I didn't want this going too long without an update


	8. A Voice Like Your Father's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck relaxes. Indrid experiments.

The next few days are full of blessed normalcy. Or, as normal as his life can be when he’s engaged to the literal mothman. 

Juno ribs him mercilessly about meeting the family (“Thacker gave me the lowdown on it through the ol' psychic channels”), and he finishes the end of the year reports on management of invasive plant species within the forest. Indrid fills the kitchen table with sketches. They soak in the springs while Jake catches them up on what happened at the lodge while they were gone. 

It’s Friday night when, as he’s laying on the couch, he picks the gold ring up from the sidetable where it’s been living since he emptied his pockets for laundry day. He tosses it up and down, as if flipping a coin.

Would it be weird to put it back on? They made it for the competition, so he could easily stash it in a drawer, it’s task complete. But it was so fun, being able to match Indrid that way, being able to experience a heightening of the senses. His perception of the world had been different, his perception of Indrid had been different.

“You should choose the futures where you put it on.” Indrid’s voice drifts from the table and over the back of the couch, “That is, if you wish to.”

Duck smirks; he knows what that undercurrent in Indrid’s voice means. Sliding the ring on his finger makes the world change color, certain hues sharpening and others becoming visible for the first time.

He shifts down onto the floor so he has more space. The dark T.V shows him his new form and, near immediately, Indrid’s Sylph self standing behind the couch. His purrs are multi-toned when Duck is like this, rather than the single note he hears when human. 

Duck stretches his wings, smirks as Indrid’s gaze follows the line of them as they flex and relax, “This means somethin, doesn’t it?”

“Displaying the inside of your wings in this context is an invitation.”

“To what?” He does it again, rests his hands behind his head and his legs out in front of him. When he’s human, this pose works wonders on Indrid, showing off his physique without him needing to peacock like a bodybuilder. 

“To me.” Indrid circles the couch,and Duck’s antennae twitch. 

“Do you smell ice cream?”

Indrid smiles, “I believe that’s you picking up on pheromones, something my kind of Sylph uses to communicate. Right now, mine are telling you that I want you to pay attention to me.” He kneels on Ducks right side, reaching for his wings. 

Duck retracts them, “Hold up, is that why you’re always wearing sweet smellin things?”

Indrid chirps, eyes flicking side to side, “Maybe. I mean, I do like how they smell, but, ah, early on they did have another purpose. I was trying to entice you.”

“Did a damn good job of it. And right now it’s drivin me fuckin wild. So,” Duck presses a claw on Indrids chest, “on your back.”

“And what” Indrid drags his nails up Duck’s leg, “makes you think you ought to be in charge?”

Duck growls, pouncing on his fiance and knocking him backwards. Indrid chirrs, wings spreading wide across the floor. 

“I’m in charge because I fuckin say so.” He presses his hands into the dark feathers of Indrid’s wings. The Sylph wiggles beneath him, and a desperate chirring vibrates from his chest. 

“I can’t, oh goodness, I didn’t factor in your chosen strength plus the size change.” 

“Wait, shit, is it too much, I can-”

“The opposite. It’s rare that I can be overpowered so easily in this form, even by my own kind. It feels exhilarating.”

“Huh, that so?” Duck adjusts his positioning, straddling Indrid’s thighs to better trap him. The Sylph’s hips are already twitching, and his chirping and purring is non-stop, “forget sometimes just how much you like been manhandled.”

“So much.” Indrid whines, petting Duck’s chest pleadingly. 

“And what if, instead of ruinin you, I wanna take my time and show you just how fuckin gorgeous you are like this?”

“Anything, you can do anything to me. Goodness, is being like this making my true form more appealing to you?”

“More like it’s helpin me notice new things to love.” He moves his hands from spread wings to soft cheeks, cupping them so he can bump their heads together the way Indrid so often does. Notices a rumbling deep in his chest.

“You’re purring.” Indrid grins delighted, “that is so very charming.”

“Not really doin it on purpose, just kinda happenin'.”

“It’s a reflexive response, oh, oh goodness.” Indrid breaks into a laugh as Duck continues nuzzling and rubbing his cheek into the fluff of his chest and belly. 

“Don’t tickle near as much when I’m like this.” He tries dragging his tongue down his chest, the way Indrid does when mothed-out, but succeeds only in getting fluff on it, “pfft, okay, that’s the same as when I’m human.”

Another laugh, “tongues aren’t involved in much when my kind are together. Even they can’t do a lot when you’re covered in feathers and fluff. Though, they are used on the body parts that more fuzzy and less feathery. They can get through the down on our faces and, uh, they’re used for, ah-” Duck actually feels the heat under Indrids feathers, suggesting a blush. 

“Darlin, I had yours around my dick about a hundred times, think I can guess what else you use it for. Speakin of which…” he draws his finger along Indrid's cock, making the Sylph chirp, keeps slowly dragging it back and forth as he murmurs, “may I?”

“Yes, please, of course, every affirmative you can imagineAH, ohhhhhhh.” There’s a thunk as Indrid gives up on staying upright to any degree, Duck’s tongue teasing the tip of his cock. The sweet, vanilla-y scent is stronger now, making it hard for Duck to concentrate on what he’s doing; a growing part of him just wants to flip Indrid over and fuck him until he cries. His own cock is trying to emerge from the slit between his legs, though he hasn’t gotten enough direct stimulation to help it out.

He can deal with all that in a moment. Right now, he needs to taste as much of Indrid as he can. It takes some concentration, but he manages to curl his tongue around the Sylph’s cock. Indrid whimpers above him, tugs the end of one antennae to urge him on. It’s a bit like having his hair pulled, and he growls, pleased. 

He tests out different rhythms, trying to twist and tighten his tongue rapidly, the way he might use his hand, but finding that Indrid chirpmoans loudest when he goes slow, retracting his tongue almost all the way in a steady, tight coil. When he gets to the tip and seems ready to pull off, Indrid makes a series of high chirrs, begging him not to stop. 

The sound alone would keep him going all night, let alone the feeling of Indrid twitching and writhing with pleasure under his hands and tongue. He’s already spent ten minutes edging him just like this, going still if Indrid tilts his hips up too quickly. He's going to do this for hours.

Unfortunately, his body has other ideas. 

“Ow, sit.” He sits up, tongue cramping from the workout, “orry, ith ot orking.”

“Oh dear.” Indrid sits up hurriedly, petting his cheek, “I sort of assumed your chosen strength would prevent this. It’s a, ah, a common issue younger mothpeople run into when first becoming sexual. Lack of practice combined with over-enthusiasm.”

The cramping subsides enough for him to respond, “I mean, I was given it my all. Durability probably just let me go a bit longer.”

“I’m sorry my love, though I appreciate being so thoroughly seen to. You needn’t continue on my behAlf, gracious.” Indrid’s head drops to his shoulder, chirring gratefully as Duck jacks him off. 

The hand not busy with his cock scratches zig-zags down Indrid’s back, and he cries out against Duck’s neck. But the sound is tame compared to the one he makes when Duck pulls his palps back enough to bite his pulse point. When he’s human, just getting his teeth to meet skin is a challenge; now, Indrid’s throat is his to claim. He grins, not letting go, as Indrid trills, wings fluttering erratically. Sucks a hickey into the cool skin as Indrid comes hard enough to spatter both their stomachs. 

Indrid crumples forward and Duck gathers him close, scooching the small distance to rest them against the couch. The Sylph purrs softly, hands nestling in the feathers of Ducks belly and sides.

“You’re wonderfully warm.”

“I uh, had Aubrey make sure this form was extra warm. I know mothpeople run cold, so I wanted to be sure you could still use me as a space heater if you needed to.”

“I love you so much.” Indrid cuddles closer, curling up enough that Duck can rest his head atop the Sylph’s. 

“Love you too, darlin.” 

His cock is aching, but if Indrid wants to drop off in his arms right now, he won’t mind in the slightest. 

“Duck, I have a somewhat odd request.”

“Indrid, I’m wearing a mothperson disguise, we’re well past ‘odd’ bein a problem.”

A light chuckle, “True. What I was going to say was that I’d very much like to blow you while you’re like this and I’m in my human form. I’m curious.”

“Hell fuckin yeah.”

“Get comfortable.” Indrid retrieves his glasses while Duck settles on the couch. Suddenly theres no longer a dark, winged figure in the room with him, but a skinny, angular human kneeling at his feet. 

Indrid reaches between his thighs and Duck hisses in surprise and excitement as cool fingers coax his cock out.

“Oh _my_ , this is a lovely thing.” He runs his index finger in a squiggle up the shaft, and Duck chirps. It’s deeper than Indrid’s usually are.

“I cannot emphasize enough how adorable it is hearing you make those sounds.”

“You make ‘em all the tiiIIIIImmme” a thumb teases the head of his cock.

“Yes, but that pales in comparison to hearing them from the man I love most in the world.”

Duck smiles, lets the fingertips of his right hand play with Indrid's hair as Indrid licks daintily at the head, occasionally dragging his tongue from root to tip, eyes locked on Duck’s own.

But whenever Duck nudges his cock forward against his lips, hoping to be let in, he gets nothing more than a quick kiss.

“You know, I begin to see why you take such pleasure in me being submissive in my Sylph form.”

Another teasing lick to the tip, Duck gritting his teeth in frustration but saying nothing.

“It’s quite wonderful to have something so big and strong at my mercy.”’

“Careful, darlin, if I could keep you pinned when we were both mothmen, I can fuckin wreck you when you’re human.”

“I’m well aware of that. And certainly not opposed. But I also know that you know better than to push your luck and have me deny you any release at all.”

Duck chirrs pathetically. 

“Although I do see several enticing futures where I let you, what was the word, ah yes, ruin me.”

“Fuck, Indrid please.”

“That what you want, my love? The chance to shove this” an agonizingly slow twist of his hand along Duck’s cock, “Down my throat.”

“Yes, sweet merciful fuckin christ yes.” 

Indrid smirks, “Then you better get to it. I’ll use my signal if it’s too much.” 

As soon as his lips form an “O” Duck tangles his claws into pale hair and pulls, jamming his cock forward until it bumps the back of Indrid's mouth.

A red-tinted gaze flicks up at him, and Indrid smiles around his cock before dipping his head forward. 

“Holy _fuck_.” Duck groans as his cock pushes past the slight resistance of the top of his throat, sliding through wet, welcoming warmth until over half of it is in Indrid's mouth.

“Holy fuck.” He says again, brain coursing with too much lust to form anything more eloquent.

Indrid huffs, amused, through his nose, and blinks at Duck expectantly. 

He jerks his hips shallowly back and forth, Indrid moaning and gripping his thighs in response. Duck tries a harder thrust, gets an even louder moan.

He lets out a low, dark laugh, as his speed builds, “You like that?”

A wet, garbled sound of affirmation.

“That’s my sweet, filthy darlin, goddamn” one hand drops from Indrid’s hair to circle his throat, “now wonder you like it when our places are switched; you’re so fuckin tight it’s like fuckin my favorite toy. Shit, can almost fuck my own fist too.” He runs the claw of his thumb of the outline of his cock in Indrid's throat.

“God, fuck, you look so fuckin good chockin on my cock, can’t wait to watch, ah fuck, watch you swallow.”

Indrid’s eyes go saucer-wide with excitement, and his left hand comes up to stroke the base of Duck’s cock in time with his thrusts. 

“Yeah, _yeah_ , like that darlin, fuck, c’mon, make me come, lemme coat that sweet little mouth, shit, shitshit _shit_.” The orgasm is a punch in the gut and he doubles over with a growling trill, holding Indrid in place as he does.

“That’s it, sweet thing, swallow it all. Better not see even a fuckin drop spill, or I’ll shove it right back down there and make you do it all again.”

There’s a delighted, broken moan, punctuated by gulping gasps and when Duck looks down he sees why. Indrid is frantically jacking himself off as Duck comes. Finally finished, Duck starts pulling out, only for Indrid to gracelessly grab his hip, trying to push his cock back in.

“You wanna come with me down your throat?”

A nod, accompanied by a chirping whimper. 

“Dirty little moth.” He growls and Indrid nods again, hand moving faster. Duck keeps his gaze down, watches Indrid's lips stretch and part, his eyes water at the corners as Duck rides out the aftershocks of his climax along the welcome softness of his tongue. If it feels this good to Indrid to watch a human Duck suck his Sylph cock, he’s amazed Indrid doesn’t ask him to do it every night. 

Indrid’s throat tenses and there’s a pathetic, reedy cry as he comes across his hand and on the bottom of the couch. 

He pulls off, panting, and nearly collapses. But Duck grabs him, scooping him up onto the couch. It takes a bit of wiggling until he gets to where he can lay on his back, Indrid shaking on his chest. He draws his free wing around the thin man, cards his claws through his hair. 

“That was fuckin amazin. Was, did, was it what you wanted it?”

“My love, it was better than I could have imagined. And I have imagined it often.”

Duck chirps, pleased. Indrid chirps back, happy. The sylph mutters exhausted, grateful words into Ducks down, eyelids drooping more and more each time Duck strokes his head. 

“You need to sleep?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, lemme take care of a few things and then I’ll join you.” He stands up, holding Indrid bridal style, and carries him to the bedroom. Bundles him under the blankets, chirrs softly when Indrid sleepily kisses his hand.

It’s not a long chore list; make sure the cat hasn’t gotten into anything she shouldn't, pull the leftovers from the freezer to defrost for tomorrow, put away the dry dishes. But by the time he pokes his head in the bedroom, Indrid is out cold. 

There’s a knock at the door. Indrid stirs, but doesn’t wake, and Duck goes to answer it. He only just remembers to take the ring off before doing so. 

Standing on the porch are three people; a tall man with greying hair, and glasses a woman with platinum blonde hair and a string of pearls, and a what looks to Duck like a college student in a grey hoodie, strands of dark hair poking through.

“Uh, hey there. Can I help you with somethin?”

The man looks him up and down, frowning, before replying.

“Yes, you can. We’re here to see our son.”

In the bedroom, he hears the unmistakable sound of Indrid bolting awake, followed by a single word.

“Fuck.”


	9. How Dare You Love Me Like You've Never Known Fear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck gives a tour. Indrid has some family time. Stern makes a discovery.

“Well? Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Mr.Cold crosses his arms. Duck glances back towards the bedroom, where Indrid is hurriedly trying to make himself look less sex-mussed and sleepy. The thinner man catches his eye, and then nods. 

“Uh, sure, c’mon in. Sorry for the mess, wasn’t really expectin company.” He shuts the door just as Indrid appears at the end of the hall, pink and yellow robe tied hurriedly around him. 

“What in the world are you all doing here?”

“It seemed only right, given that you intend to marry this human-”

“Still got a name y’know”

“-that we see what kind of life our son is choosing. Especially given how clear you made it that you did not intend to return to Sylvain after the wedding.”

“Where did you even get those disguises?”

“Healthcliffe was kind enough to provide us with them.” Mrs. Cold settles on the arm of the sofa. 

Indrid turns to Duck, “I recall you saying something about there being multiple ways to skin a-”

“CAT!” Al drops to their knees to greet Winnie, who has emerged from her catbed to investigate the interruption to her slumber. 

“I’ve never seen one so small.” Al makes a clicking noise to try and lure the feline closer.

“Wait, are all cats in Sylvain Heathcliffe sized?”

“....some of them are a little smaller.” Al responds, chirping when Winnie headbutts their extended hand. 

“This is where you will be living?” Mr. Cold takes in the living room and the kitchen, lips pursed. Duck is starting to feel a bit judged. 

“Yes. Now please just tell me that you are not intending to stay here during your visit because if you do I will fly off and live in a TNT bunker for the next several days.”

“We’re staying at the lodge.” Al stands, Winnie purring happily in their arms. 

“Goodness," Indrid smiles at his sibling, "it took her a few hours to get used to me.”

“Maybe you broke her into the concept of mothpeople?” Duck offers. 

“Perhaps. Regardless, you can see more of her tomorrow, Al. Right now I suggest you all retire to the lodge as it is eleven at night, a time when people, myself included, would like to be asleep.”

“Why? Do you have work to attend to in the morning. Your comments over the last few days suggested you were not engaged in any tasks of importance.”

“O-kay, that’s enough for tonight.” Duck herds his future in-laws to the front door, “we’ll get in touch in the mornin, figure out what to do while you visit, you might wanna ask Barclay for suggestions, goodnight, oh, thanks Al.” He takes a melty Winnie from the younger Sylph, who waves to them before mouthing a word to Indrid and shutting the door. 

“I’m sorry too.” Indrid mutters, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the carpet. 

“Darlin?”

“It’s alright, Duck. I, I saw this was a possibility. But I thought, after the gauntlet, after all the difficulties, they’d do me the courtesy of not bothering us further. I’m sorry for not alerting you to the possibility sooner.”

Duck steps to him, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down his biceps, “Hey, it’s okay. I mean, ain’t thrilled to have surprise in-laws on my doorstep, but it still ain’t half the shock of openin a bedroom door and findin Minerva when I wasn't expectin here.”

“For a man who rejected the weird for years, you’ve had a remarkably strange life.”

“Yeah. Don’t mind the strange half as much now, since it means I got you.”

Indrid chirrs, amused, then chirps when Duck scoops him into a bridal carry.

“Let’s go rest up, cryptid of mine. Seems like we’re gonna need all the energy we can to get through tomorrow."

\---------------------------------

“Here you go; two fruit salads and a half-stack of blueberry pancakes. Indrid, Barclay has your usual almost finished.”

“Thank you, Moira.” Indrid nods at his friend, who has taken to helping Barclay in the restaurant since some of the previous staff moved back to Sylvain.

Mr. Cold sniffs at a strawberry, wrinkles his nose, “This is not fresh.”

“It’s winter. Fruit doesn’t grow in the same way on Earth that it does on Sylvain, and winter means either getting it from cans or from far-off farms.”

“What do you eat during winter then?”

“Uh, it is not as though we eat only fruit at home.” Al points out, flipping through a small stack of brochures for local attractions (all four of them).

They’re interrupted by Moira setting a plate of pineapple upside-down pancakes in front of Indrid, topped with a good eight inches of whipped cream. 

“Thank you.” He daintily picks up his cutlery, then tears into the plate like he hasn’t eaten in centuries. Both parents give him a look, the one meant to convey that he is enjoying himself far too much. 

He takes a larger bite, chirping happily. Al does the same, snagging a chunk off of Indrid’s plate with their fork. 

“Honestly.” Mrs. Cold mutters. But Indrid’s focus shifts to Stern, who is leaning over the counter, saying something to Barclay. This is not unusual. The fact that Stern comes away with a frown, however, is. 

The food clears his head enough for him to feel that he ought to at least try to make the most of his parent’s visit. He does love Kepler; maybe he can help them see if through his eyes. 

The restaurant has two entrances, one for guests coming through the lobby and one for diners coming in from the outside. The bell above the latter door rings and Hollis, Keith, and two other Hornets enter. A “duuuuuuudes” from behind him suggests Jake has just come in from the lobby.

“Where did they get those outfits?” Al murmurs, eyes glittering with envy,

“By being in a motorcycle gang.”

“I wish to join.”

Indrid can think of two dozen ways that ends badly, and that’s before he ever looks at the futures. 

“You would need to speak to Hollis. Also, you will need a motorcycle, the idea of which, as your older sibling, fills me with a sense of terror I cannot express.”

Al snickers. Hollis glances towards their table, nods at Indrid. The other two take no note of him, but Keith starts and bumps into his chair.

“Why is that one afraid of you?” Al cocks their head. 

“Ah, well, he saw me in my Sylph form, tried to run and alert others, and promptly got attacked by a goatman. He still finds me alarming. Though we have the shared experience of running afoul of goat minions.”

“Afoul in what way?” His father asks over his mug.

“......Nevermind. I thought that, while you are here, you might like to visit the forest with me. It is one of my favorite places, and also Duck’s place of employment.”

His parents exchange a glance, then nod in sync. Al, however, slides a pamphlet to the center of the table.

“I am curious to see where Duck works. However, we should visit here first. Look, it even has something celebrating Indrid.”

Indrid groans internally before he even looks down, knowing full well that when he does he’ll see:

_Come visit the Cryptonomica! Kepler’s Premiere Tourist Destination._

Well, at least he knows what to expect.

\--------------------------------------

“When did you change the Mothman display?” He hisses through grit teeth.

“Why, a few months after the great battle. I updated all of them to reflect more positively on our Sylph friends”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, where did this come from?” He points to an informational section that simply reads _over the years, Mothman has developed a cult following, including those who seem to find the cryptid sexually appealing._

Below this is a picture of that blasted, deeply inaccurate statue in Point Pleasant, shot to make the statues behind the focal point, and a printed out screenshot of a t-shirt proclaiming, “mothman is real and he sucked my dick.”

“Kirby did additional research. He was curious as to whether there were other humans who shared Duck’s, uh, proclivities.”

Any other day, Indrid would be more amused than embarrassed. He does appreciate the shift in his cultural perception, after years of being seen as an omen of doom. And he’s near-certain Duck would wear that shirt proudly around the house for the sake of the goof. 

But on any other day, his family is not five feet away reading the display on the Pope Lick Monster and other goatmen. 

They step beside him and he braces for the oncoming questions.

“Why are there so many references to point pleasant?”

He can’t, not here, not in front of them.

“It is merely a place where I was sighted.”

“It seems much more than that,” Mr.Cold examines the photo of the statue, “they have clearly made much of your presence.”

Al senses his unease, tries to draw their attention elsewhere, “ooh, look a tiny Barclay.”

His mother reads off another section, “While there are some who believe Mothman caused the collapse of the Silver Bridge, or was the omen that signaled the coming disaster, the evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of Mothman trying to warn the town about the incident.”

He glances back at Ned, sorting through “SND” fanmail, wanting to thank him for changing the language on that one. Instead of simply acknowledging him, Ned strides over to join them. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found one of our most popular displays.”

“Indeed. Why are there so many references to disaster?” Mr. Cold takes in Ned with a surprising amount of approval. 

“An excellent question. Much has been made of the fact that the Mothman is oft-sighted right before disasters. For many years, the assumption from close-minded folk was that he was causing them. Now, of course, everyone knows that Mothman is a true friend to mankind.”

“I do my best. Though it has not always been enough.”

His father turns to him, confused, “Do you mean to tell me that you turned your back on home to help this world, and then were not able to do so?”

“It was not always easy to, to get people to listen to me.” It feels like an excuse. 

It is an excuse. 

There were times he could have done more, times he panicked, times he gave up in frustration before exhausting all options, time and time and time again where the lives lost are as much his doing as they are the result of bad luck. 

His father is about to say something else when Ned speaks again, “Ah, you’re visitors from our sister planet! Well, in that case, let me show you some of the most popular souvenirs for traveling Sylphs to take home.” 

His parents, for all their time navigating social circles in Sylvain, are unprepared for the master misdirection and herding that Ned is capable of. 

Thank goodness for crooked men and gift shops. 

\---------------------------------

It’s taken twenty minutes for the entirety of the Cold family to get ready for the hike in the forest. Indrid waits anxiously as his family layers on sweaters and swaps coats loaned to them from other residents. He knows that in all timelines, they make it with time to spare. That does not stop him from feeling like an impatient teenager. 

This feeling worsens when he has to ride in the backseat of the car, sandwiched between his mother and sibling while his father sits up front with Barclay, who is doing Indrid yet another favor by driving them (and sparing him having to explain what happened to the Winnebago). True, there were no cars during his younger years back home; but he understands now while sulking in the cramped back of one is a rite of passage for most humans. 

The group milling about the front of the ranger station is a mix of outdoorsy locals and a few tourists, Indrid’s parents looking as incongruously put-together in their disguises as Indrid looks incongruously odd. Only Al has managed to look like a human and not an alien masked as one. 

(That’s what he is, after all. An alien. Earth is not his home). 

“Howdy folks, glad y’all could join me on this, uh, balmy West Virginia afternoon.” Duck’s smile is as comfortable as the joke, the visitors all turning to look at him. 

“Today we’re gonna be learnin about plant identification and, as I can see some of you already know," he nods towards a couple holding binoculars, “we'll be usin the lack of leaves to do some birdwatchin too. I’ll be pointin out some points of interest, and makin sure none of y’all get lost, and if you got any questions, happy to answer ‘em as we go.” 

Indrid keeps his family to the back of the group, in part because they’re all tall and he doesn’t want to impede other’s ability to enjoy the walk. He also doesn’t want Duck to see him an become distracted or nervous.

Duck pauses in a grove of pines, explaining the role they play in the winter habitat and, in a piece of luck, a red-shouldered hawk dives through the clearing. 

“That accipiter has been here for the last year. Had a nest last spring, and we’re hopin we get another one this year.”

They walk on, Al listening intently to Duck’s tour and the elder Cold’s looking through, rather than at, him. It’s not a long walk, and as they wind their way back to the ranger station Duck stops one last time.

“Now, you look over there, just at the top of that bush, you'll see good ‘ol Cardinalis cardinalis; a cardinal. Two of ‘em, looks like mated pair. Cardinals mate for life, even sing together. Real Romeos, those birds.”

The crowd murmurs politely, and a few take pictures, but Indrid understands their puzzled looks. Cardinals are common, indeed there were some hopping around the front steps earlier. They are, however, one of Indrid’s favorite birds; from an artistic perspective, they’re wonderfully contrasted with the world around them no matter the season. And he likes how simple they are, beautiful and charming by chance, not by design. 

He continues watching the pair as the tour concludes, vaguely catches Duck saying, “thank y’all again, feel free to poke around the station, ask questions, leave a donation, y’know, whatever floats your boat.”

Then, the same voice, just behind him. 

“Noticed ‘em settin up in that bush yesterday, knew it’d make you happy to see ‘em.”

“Ah. How quickly did you notice us?”

“Right away.” Sturdy arms wrap around his waist, and a chin rests on his shoulder as Duck nuzzles his cheek, “darlin, there’s only one person in town who wears this many layers outside and red glasses to boot.”

Indrid chuckles, though the humor is hollow “I suppose I am distinct looking.”

“I’d know you anywhere. Took a lot to focus on the tour and not on moonin over you.”

“Duck, I look like the Michelin Man’s evil twin.”

As Duck turns him gently in the embrace, Indrid kicks himself for showing his hand, for being the source of the inquisitive worry on his fiance’s face. 

“Bad day?” 

“Yes. Not ,’end of the world bad’ merely...mundane unpleasantness.”

Gloved hands cup his cheeks, “Call it quits for today then. Tell ‘em whatever you need to; that Winnie turns into a mothman-eating beast at sundown, that you got food poisin, whatever. Then go home and take care of yourself, and we can have a nice, quiet night in where you tell me all about your shitty day. Okay?”

Indrid smiles, more genuine this time, “Okay.”

\------------------------------------------------

Duck kicks the snow from his boots and steps inside, then freezes; there’s a noise coming from the bedroom. Indrid’s voice, muttering and agitated. 

He takes only the time needed to get anything snow-tinged off of him before beating a track down the hall. 

Indrid is pacing, Winnie sitting on the bed, head swiveling as she tracks his path. His gaze is vaguely glazed, as if he tried to look at a future and got stuck halfway between it and the present. Drawings are scattered across the bed, some torn, some shredded, some crumpled, all sporting upsetting images.

“Galveston, San Francisco, Fukushima, Halifax, no, no, Bangladesh, New Orleans no, so many-”

“Indrid?”

The sylph stops, noticing Duck for the first time. Then he dives forward, grabbing the the drawings haphazardly, trying to cover them or sweep them away. 

“No, don’t, don’t look at those, I can’t, all those years-”

“Whoa, whoah, darlin” Duck settles on the bed in front of him, explosions and floods crinkling under his knees, “it’s okay, you know I don’t give a damn about things you couldn’t stop.”

“But _I_ do. They, this afternoon, my father reminded me just how little I did. A century, wasted, I-”

“Can you stay with me? Try to focus on the here and now.”

“No, that won’t change it, I can deny it, avoid it all I wish. It does not make up for the failures.”

Duck takes Indrid’s hands, doesn’t try to pry the shreds of paper from his clenched fingers. Simply holds both hands in his own, Indrid’s shudders reverberating down into them. 

“The funicular.”

“What?”

“The funicular, Leo’s store, the sinkhole, the mimic, the end of two goddamn worlds.”

“What are you doing?” Indrid’s brow creases as if he’s still having trouble orienting in time. 

“You can make lists, you can count off your failures if you really want to. But I can make lists too, and mine is gonna be all the times Indrid Cold helped stop a disaster.”

“I barely helped with the mimic.”

“Warnin us about an angry mob is real fuckin helpful.”

Indrid opens his mouth, closes it. Takes a deep breath,

“Milwaukee.”

Duck arches an eyebrow.

“There was going to be a fire, on par with the Great Chicago Fire. I got there in time. Someone listened to me.” His voice is just audible under the hum of the heaters. 

“Seattle, Sao Paulo, Madrid, Van Norman,” He swallows, drop the paper from his hands to better hold Ducks, “multiple instances during the cold war.”

“Holy shit.”

“There’s a reason I know Russian.” Indrid tips his glasses up his head, wipes his eyes with his sleeve. Duck reaches over to the beside table, grabbing a box of tissues. Indrid takes them, dries his eyes and blows his nose. 

“I cannot believe you have chosen to spend your life with someone who still has such breakdowns.” The comment is bemused rather than upset, which is progress. 

“Indrid whateverthefuckyournameis Cold” the running joke makes that strange smile crackle in the darkening room, “I’d be the biggest damn dipshit on the planet if I thought you should be done dealin with a hundred fuckin years of seein bad shit after one or two talks. You’re dealin with it the way you know how, but if that ain’t workin anymore, I’ll do whatever you need me to when it comes to helpin you find a new one.

Indrid kisses his cheek, “And in exchange, I promise to keep you from falling off of anymore cliffs.”

Duck shakes his head, “Nope, don’t even gotta do that. I love you, Indrid, and I got no conditions on that beyond us treatin each other right.”

Indrid chirrs, blushes, and then pulls Duck in for a kiss. They flop down and roll over, kicking away disasters and clearing space for themselves on the mattress. Indrid gazes down at him, brushes his hair back from his face. 

“Duck, I-”

A knock on the door interrupts them.

“I swear if that’s your folks-”

“No, it’s Agent Stern. And you need to answer it.” He hops up and Duck clambers off the bed.

When the door opens, Stern is standing there, still in his full work attire, looking over his shoulder so anxiously that Duck peers out of the apartment to be sure there isn’t anything coming for them.

“Gettin the feelin this ain’t a social call.”

“You’re right. I need to talk with both of you, and the other members of the Pine Guard. I just came from Ned’s, and I am working my way back to the lodge, alerting people as I go.”

“Alertin us of what?”

Stern’s face is steel, his voice smooth as glass. Only the constant flicking of his gaze sideways, into the darkness of the parking lot, gives his nerves away.

“I have reason to suspect a threat we thought was neutralized isn't really gone. Duck, I think the mimic is back.”


	10. On the Day You Left Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al makes some friends. Juno takes a swing. Stern makes a choice.

Arlo Thacker is dreaming. He can tell it’s a dream because he’s in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, side by side with Madeline, sharing a gigantic, ceramic bowl of GORP. 

Madeline Cobb would eat _him_ before eating GORP again.

**“Thacker?”**

“Yeah?” In the dream he turns, looks over his shoulder, and looks back to find the lodge replaced with empty, swirling black space.

**“Thacker, I need you to listen carefully.”**

A few feet away, Quell takes vague shape, as if putting on her full human form would take too much time. 

“I’m all ears, bud.”

**“You are in danger. As are your friends. Go to Aubrey Little, take her back through the gate, find your allies.”**

“Why, what’s happened? Are you in trouble? Is Sylvain in trouble?”

**“No. But there is a threat, a danger she can feel even if neither she nor I can full see it. She is trying to reach Aubrey as we speak, but I do not wish to take chances. Go. Now.”**

Quell reaches forward in his mind, wrenches him awake. He throws on the nearest clothes, grabs his walking stick, and runs out into the night.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

“It can’t be back. I saw the damn thing die, hell, we all did.” Duck bounces his knee beneath the table. They’ve met in what used to be the safe house, which has moved to more general storage and emergency rooms in case the lodge gets too crowded. 

It’s still fortified as all hell, which is real handy when you think a monster is lurking outside. 

“I know. And I believe all of you when you say you saw it destroyed.” Stern stands at the far left of the table, Barclay on one side, Mama on the other in her usual seat at the head, “But the facts as I have them are this: Agents Parker, Murphy, and Adams have not been acting like themselves. I checked in with each of them today and there are mannerisms missing, occasional lapses in their knowledge of me or the mission that do not make sense. We know that on at least one occasion, there was an abomination loose in Kepler that could take the form of anyone or, likely, anything. And, we know that Reconciliation was destroyed, as was the gate they established. So they cannot be behind this. Which suggests that mimic somehow survived.”

“Guess a chunk could’ve broken off or some shit, laid low and regrown. Christ almighty, just when I was gettin used to retirement.” Mama groans, stands and crosses to a cabinet and unlocks it.

“Mama has a point, my friends; in the kerfuffle, it is possible some part of the abomination managed to survive.” Ned takes the NARF blaster Mama holds out to him.

“So what’s the play?” Duck looks at Stern.

“I have a few ideas, but I’m open to suggestions. Really, _really_ open to suggestions.”

“Indrid?” Duck touches his fiance’s hand, searching the Sylph’s blank face for a sign. Then Indrid shakes his head with a sigh.

“I can’t get a read on the timelines. There are many, many moving parts, the kind that happen when someone with a key role to play has not made up their mind. That in and of itself does not fill me with optimism. Although, it appears we will have some back up; in most futures, Aubrey, Dani, and Thacker arrive tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s somethin anyway. Duck, you got a weapon preference?” Mama looks over at him, holding up an axe in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

“Uhhh, you got any swords in there?”

“......Lemme keep lookin.” There are several alarming clanks from the cabinet as she continues rummaging through it.

“ You were saying something about plans, babe?”

“Yes. The best I can think of is to stay alert, and advise those close to us to do the same. I’ll keep a close eye on my agents, maybe I can catch the mimic out at some point. I’m wary of warning everyone what I think is going on just yet. I’m not willing to gamble on mass panic if it turns out my chain of conclusions was wrong. Hopefully, if we combine Aubrey’s magic, Thacker’s psychic abilities, and Indrid’s powers, we can figure out what the hell is going on.”

“We oughta have a secret word,” Duck shakes his head when Mama holds out two alarmingly large knives, “Y’know, so we can make sure if one of us is talkin to the other, we ain’t talkin to the mimic.”

“Good idea. Hmmm, Flatwoods perhaps?”

“You’re a nerd, babe.”

“That’s immaterial. But you’re right.” Stern smiles at his boyfriend.

“Flatwoods it is.” Duck nods, “Think it might be best if we--Jesus Christ Mama, are those _ninja stars_?”

\----------------------

Duck and Indrid stay at the Lodge that night, as does Ned, the group agreeing that the less separated they can be, the better their odds (“and keep away from that fuckin ouija board” “that was one time, my friend”). 

Indrid sleeps in his Sylph form, hyper-alert to the point that it’s a miracle he gets any sleep at all. He stays under the blankets (the lodge is never quite warm enough for him) while Duck dresses for work.

“I got some field samplin to do today, so if you call the station, don’t worry if you can’t get a hold of me.”

“I am going to spend all day worried about you and more or less everything else until these futures settle; but thank you for that information.”

“Try not to hole up by yourself today, okay?” Duck sits down on the edge of the bed, pets the down on Indrids cheek, “seems like you might have an easier time of things if you ain’t alone.”

“I will do my best.”

Duck kisses the top of his head, “See you tonight, darlin.”

The door opens and shuts, and he lays there, listening to the comforting sound of Duck’s footfalls. Scans the futures, finds them in such a jumble that it gives him a headache. He groans, drags himself out of bed and into the shower. As he’s drying himself off afterwards, there’s a knock on the door.

“Password.”

“Flatwoods” Barclay’s voice slips under the door. Indrid opens it, finds the cook holding a small platter.

“Strawberry pancakes and vanilla-caramel creamer with a splash of coffee. On the house.”

“Thank you.” Indrid smiles, takes the platter from him carefully, “have you by chance seen my sibling and parents around this morning?”

“I’ve been in the kitchen since 4:30, and they haven’t been in for breakfast, so no, sorry.”

“Not to worry. Maybe they’ve gotten some sense into their heads and have gone home.”

He thanks Barclay again, sits down and eats, sketching all the while. When he’s finished he has a clean plate and a stack of drawings that make no sense: the gate, the ranger station, Barclay, Mama, two figures talking in the hospital.

Eventually he migrates out to the lobby, sketches by the fire instead, chatting happily with Moira once the breakfast crowd leaves the restaurant. The peaceful moments only serve to make him uneasy, a familiar calm before the storm. 

Around two, he realizes that they only asked Leo to feed Winnie the night before, not this morning as well. 

He grabs his coat, calling out “I’m running to the apartment, I’ll be back shortly” to no one in particular before heading into the chilly afternoon gloom. On his way his mind constantly flicks through Duck’s futures. He knows he ought to watch the others as well and he does, from time to time. But he keeps coming back to Duck. So far, the human’s day is on a fairly normal trajectory, the futures showing him out in the woods until 4:30 pm.

The apartment is cool when he pokes his head in, and he’s grateful they’re on the second floor so some heat rises from the rooms beneath their own. Otherwise, it would be a freezer in her. 

“Winnie? I am hear to bring food, my small predator.”

A meow from the bedroom, and two eyes peering at him from the blankets.

“I know, I know, we were deeply neglectful and you shall never forgive us.” The dry food clinks into the bowl and he smiles at the soft _tump_ of Winnie hopping off the bed. He grabs her wet food from the fridge, along with a carton of eggnog, the perfect balm to a stressful day. 

Once the cat is happily crunching away, he opens the carton and takes a swig. 

He immediately regrets this action, and spits as much of it out as he can. 

Pooling on the floor and dripping down his chin is a thick, purple-black liquid. 

Blackthorn tea.

He drops the carton, scrambles for the phone and dials the lodge, the tea concentrated enough that the small amount he ingested is already shorting out his powers. 

“Hello-”

“We were wrong, it’s not the mimic, it’s someone from Sylvain, please, tell Mama that and warn them, I’ll, I’ll get to you as soon as I can.” He hangs up, too frantic to wait for a reply. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

On the other end of the line, Agent Parker puts down the phone.

“Well?” Agent Adams cocks her head as Agent Murphy returns from locking the remaining residents in their rooms. 

“He finally drank it. Which means we can begin the next phase of our plan.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid dashes out the front door just as a motorcycle screeches to a stop at the edge of the parking lot.

“Indrid, dude, am I glad to see you!” Jake pulls off his helmet, waving for Indrid to come join him. The Sylph is nearly to him when he stops.

“Wait, Jake, I’m, I’m sorry, but I can’t be sure it’s you.”

“Huh? Oh, uh, shit. Um, I guess that’s okay man. But Al is like freaking out and asked for me to come find you.”

Indrid’s eyes narrow, “why are they with you?”

“They came to the nest a few hours ago, said they wanted to hang out with us. Which was, like, cool and chill, but then it’s like they saw something out the window and started asking if there was a way to reach you but like I didn’t have the number for Duck’s place and the lodge wasn’t answering and, uh, I’m really sorry dude.”

Jake’s nose crinkles the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. Jake Coolice cries easier than anyone Indrid knows. In fact he’s sometimes wondered if he made the tear ducts on his disguise wonky. But no, Jake just seems to have wet puppy eyes and a soft heart.

Which means this is probably Jake. 

Indrid holds up a hand, palm out, “Alright, I’ll come with you. But if you turn out to not be you, I will tear your eyes out.”

“Jeez dude.”

“Sorry” he mumbles, climbing onto the back of the bike, “it’s been a rough day.”

As soon as they arrive at the rebuilt Hornets Nest, Al, still human, bolts out the door and hugs him. Indrid strokes the muss of dark hair as his sibling speaks into his shoulder.

“I, I did not know they were going to do this. I thought mother and father understood. I am sorry, if I had paid greater attention, I could have warned you, I could have stopped this.”

“Stopped what?”

“The attack.” Al says quietly. “I did not know it was happening until I saw one of our kind fly up and give a signal a little while ago. Then I understood. Mother and father did not come to here to learn more about you, as they told both us; they came to help the others.”

“What the fuck do you mean another attack?” Hollis steps off the back porch, more concerned than angry, “I thought the whole Quell thing was over with.”

“It is. I do not have the full details, as I was excluded from any conversations on the matter once it became clear I though the conspiracy theory was ridiculous. I kept eavesdropping as much as I could, and from what I could gather, our parents and others believe that Aubrey did not really heal Sylvain, and that the only way to be truly safe is to go to war against Earth.”

“I’d feared as much from their comments but I never thought…” He looks down at Al, who shakes their head in sad agreement, “I did not think it would come to this. I did not even foresee it.”

“So we should like, get help right? Like last time?”

Indrid rubs his forehead, trying to sort through options through waves of nausea, “yes, but I think barricading and fortifying ourselves is most prudent. If who I think i behind this is, indeed, behind it, he’ll be prepared for a more traditional fight in the open. The longer we can keep barrier between the residents of Kepler and the attackers, the better chance we have of stopping the plan and keeping people alive. I am going to collect the others. Al, stay here with the hornets.”

“Indrid, I am not even remotely a child, nor am I helpless.”

“I know, which is why I am suggesting you stay here with the hornets. They are formidable in their own right” he glances over at Hollis, who shrugs in a way that conveys they know this already, “but it won’t hurt to have you here helping them if there is an attack. And please, Al, just” he cups his siblings cheeks, “just be careful.” 

With that he removes his glasses and takes off. He keeps low, watches for unfamiliar shapes in the air. Fights the urge to fly straight to Duck, knows he has to round up the others first; he has faith in Ducks abilities. Also, Duck would likely want him to make sure their friends are safe, not ignore them for the sake of swooping in to rescue him. 

He touches down in front of the Cryptonomica. Two of his fellow Sylphs, no longer disguised, are trying to break down the door. He dives straight down, turning at the last moment to land feet first on one of the attackers, knocking them out. Tackles the other one, slamming them into the nearest wall until they crumple to the ground. 

“Ned! Are you in there?”

There’s the click of six succesive locks before the orange head of the NARF blaster pokes through the door.

“Password?”

“Flatwoods” He whispers. The blaster disappears and the door opens enough for him to duck in. To his surprise, it’s Kirby holding the blaster, while Ned stands at the check-out desk brow furrowed as he bends over something on the counter. 

“I thought Duck explicitly said no Ouija boards.” Indrid peers down at the planchette as it moves Ned’s hands.

“That he did, my friend. But desperate times and all that.”

“Are you trying to summon ghostly reinforcements?”

“I need someone to protect this establishment while I assist you and the others.”

“That was not as enlightening a statement as you appear to think it was.”

“Edmund motherfucker Chicane!” The voice makes both Kirby and Indrid jump, the assistant pointing the blaster at the ceiling.

“Hello, old friend.” Ned steps back with a satisfied smile. 

“Don’t you bloody ‘hello’ me you git, what is the meaning of this?” The shape of a broad, intimidating man floats above the counter and, judging by it’s posture, glares down at Ned.

“A way of finally evening the score between us, righting the scales as it were.”

“Righting the scales! Which one of us is dead?!”

“Which one of us turned immediately to a life of crime upon being freed and, in blackmailing me, lead to the isolation that made his own demise much easier?”

The ghost snarls, lunges down and promptly passes through both Ned and the wall behind him. He pops back through, glowering, and Indrid clears his throat.

“While I am sure you both have a great deal to argue over, we are in the midst of a potentially world ending war. If you would be so kind, Mr. Mosche, agreeing to watch the shop will surely expedite whatever Ned was going to offer you as an apology.” He puts on his best grin, and Boyd stares at him.

“Fine” he crosses his arms in a sulky float, “but you owe me big, Chicane. Even bigger than before.”

“You will not regret it my friend, and thank you a thousand times over. Keep the shop in one piece, and please help Kirby avoid being ripped to shreds; good assistants are hard to come by.”

The ghost offers a sarcastic salute as Indrid and Ned head out the door.

\---------------------------------------------

Duck finishes his notes on specimen A216, tucks his pencil behind his ear and kneels down to double check something on her exposed roots. 

The brush cracks behind him, and he turns. 

Four park visitors stand behind him, studying him.

“Uh, howdy. You folks lost? Cause the trails back thataway.” He points to his left. None of the visitors say anything. They all look a bit messy, like they've been in the woods awhile, a bit disheveled too.

No, not disheveled. 

Feral. 

One charges him with a mothperson shriek and he grabs them, trying to keep them from biting his arm as they thrash. Their glasses come off as their head whips back and forth, and suddenly is job doubles in difficulty, feathers scratchign his arms and claws swiping far too close to his face.

“Whoa, whoa there, c'mon now, there ain’t no need for that. If, ow, if you let me get you back to the lodge we can fix you right up, ow.” 

Another shriek, and he looks back at the remaining humans just in time to see them transform, two into other mothpeople and one into a goatperson. 

“Fuck.” 

They swarm him, and every time he manages to throw one off or knock one down, another grabs hold of him. 

“Listen, fuck, please, get off, I can help you.”

There’s a hiss, biting pain as a claw catches his sternum deep and hard enough to draw blood. 

Then there’s a different, panicked shrieking as one of the mothpeople reels back, clutching it’s head. 

“Plenty more where that came from, now get!”

“Holy shit, Thacker, am I glad to see you.”

The remaining two moths turn on the older man, only to freeze in place. Duck throws the goatman off his back, watches it freeze mid-air.

“Nice work honey.” Dani appears from the trees, Aubrey beside her and Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD strapped to her back. 

“Thanks babe.” Aubrey leans over, kisses her cheek. Dr. Harris Bonkers makes a noise of disgust.

“I got no idea what the fuck got into them.” Duck stands, gesturing to his attackers. 

“We’re not sure either, sport. All we know is that when two goddesses tell you to make for earth, you do it.”

“Shit, is Sylvain okay?”

“I don't think so.” Aubrey’s fingers spark nervously, “when she came to me in a dream, she seemed really worried. I think she’s more scared because she can’t quite see what’s wrong. She just said it wasn’t safe for me to stay.”

“Have there been other attacks?” Dani rests a hand on her shoulder.

“No idea. But I’m going back to the station, gettin my car, and gettin to the lodge. C’mon.” They take off through the trees, breaking into a run when shouts echo from the direction of the ranger station. As they reach it, a body shatters the glass of the right-hand side window, rolling to face them.

“Juno!” Duck and Thacker yell in unison.

“That’s right you dipshits, come at me! Think you can wear my face or some shit, I’ll fuckin show you.”

“Wait, Juno?” They race inside, stepping into a chaotic, compact battlefield. Juno Divine stands on her desk, folding chair in hand, whacking at a werewolf that is clearly losing this confrontation. Closer to Duck’s desk, Leo Tarkesian gives a friendly wave before launching another, still-disguised Sylph through the broken window. 

“Bout time!”

“Hey! I was workin! Also what the fuck are you doin here?” Duck hunches forward, allowing Aubrey to launch a spell at one of the few attackers still standing.

“Soon as the attack started, Minerva came and got me and we booked it up here hopin to find you.”

“Indeed!” Minerva’s voice booms as she steps through the kitchen doorway, goatman slung over her shoulders. It bleats when she tosses it out the window. 

“Why, is this some chosen shit or-”

“On the contrary, we came to see if you or the other guardians of Sylvain required aid. And, on a more practical matter, I believe you are in need of this, Duck Newton.” Minerva unsheathes one of her dual blades, presents it, hilt out, to Duck.

“Yeah, got a bad feelin that you’re right.” He takes it, gives a small bow of thanks.

There’s a crack as Thacker knocks the last of the attackers unconscious. Duck gazes around the trashed room, counts ten feral Sylphs in all. 

“So much for the mimic theory.”

\------------------

“So much for the mimic theory” Stern says.

“Got that fuckin right.” Mama responds as the two of them tear down the driveway to the lodge. He’d been out all day looking for his agents, all of whom had gone AWOL, while Mama had been in her studio, carving, when the attacks started.

They hit the lobby, finding it mercifully free of rampaging Sylphs.

Then there’s a godawful crashing and cacophony from the direction of the kitchen, and they sprint down the hall. Skid to a stop outside the kitchen door, Stern motioning for Mama to wait. She does, and they both draw their weapons. He peers through the portal.

“It’s agent’s Murphy and Adams.”

“Got a feelin that ain’t their real names.”

“As do I.” He nods then shoves the door open, weapon pointed at the impostors. 

“Hands, hands where I can see them now.”

“There’s no need.” Agent Parker appears from the storage closet, yanks something into the room behind him. 

Barclay, arms bound and mouth gagged, falls to the floor. There’s a massive bruise on his forehead, but he’s growling loudly at the false agents. 

Agent Parker removes his wristwatch, and a mothperson stands in his place.

“Rian?” Sterns' gun doesn’t move an inch.

“Ah, so you remember me.” The sylph waves his hand and the other agents remove their disguises, bringing the number of mothpeople in the room to three. 

“You’re a bit hard to forget. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where my agents are?”

“Hmm? Oh, locked away somewhere safe. They’re not dead. At least for the time being.”

“How generous. Now, you got until the count of three to fuckin untie Barclay or-”

“Now, now, Mrs. Cobb, you’re getting ahead of yourself. We will gladly release Barclay…” he snaps his fingers and his co-conspirators grab the cook hauling him to his knees, “if you cooperate.”

“What do you want?” Stern keeps his eyes on Rian, even though he’s slowly dying from the need to check on his boyfriend.

“Information. And, more importantly, help in luring all the other Pine Guard and their traitorous friends where we need them to be.”

“Not a fuckin chance.”

“What she said.”

“Tsk, well, that’s unfortunate.” Rian crosses to the nearby counter, where a small vial of something sickly green sits. When he turns back to them, he’s holding a syringe of the same liquid. 

“Remarkable what you can obtain from a hospital dressed like an FBI agent. They gave the needle with no issues. Now, are either of you familiar with Snakestooth?”

Stern shakes his head, and Mama does the same. Barclay stops growling, gasps instead. 

“Ah, it seems your friend is. Snakestooth grows on Sylvain and it is poisonous, but only to certain kinds of Sylphs. My kind can encounter it without issue. For weaker kinds of Sylph, the consequences are far more dire. For instance, were this to enter Barclays system, it would kill him. There is no antidote, mind you, and the process is quite slow. I have heard it described as being boiled alive, inch by inch.” He grabs Barclays hand, forcing his arm to extend, the Sylph fighting the hold but unable to throw off all three of his captors. 

Rian presses the needle against Barclay’s skin, but doesn’t puncture it. 

“Take off the gag.” He orders, never looking away from Mama and Stern. Both of them, however, look immediately at Barclay.

“Mama, Joseph, don’t, don’t do what he asks.”

“Did I mention I will make both of you watch him die?”

“You know what to do.” This Barclay says to Mama, “you know I always said if it came down to it, I’d want to go quick.”

“No.” Mama’s statement seems to be to the universe at large and the shotgun wavers, “I ain’t gonna let him win that way.”

“Touching as this is, your time is ticking.”

Mama’s posture goes steel strong, and there’s a click as the hammer cocks.

Barclay meets Sterns eyes, smiling sadly.

“It’s been fun, babe. I love you.”

Then he shuts his eyes. 

Mama glances at Stern. He holds her gaze while he cocks the pistol. Hopes to god she can read what he’s planning on his face.

She follows the line of his weapon, it’s trajectory. Nods, and lowers the shotgun all the way.

Stern looks back at Barclay, “I love you too. And I’m sorry.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid and Ned (who, it turns out, does not enjoy flight via mothman) hit the ground just as Duck, Aubrey, Dani, and Thacker pull into the parking lot.

“Thank fuck, you’re okay.” Duck throws his arms around Indrid, who chirrs in relief. 

“Come on, we need to find-”

They all go still as a single sound bursts through the air.

A gunshot.


	11. As You Fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al sets a limit. Stern acts under pressure. Indrid fights back.

There’s an ungodly shriek.

Rian clutches his arm, dropping the syringe to the ground. His companions hesitate before each diving after it, releasing their hold on Barclay in the process. 

They both promptly freeze as the syringe crunches beneath Mama’s boot.

“Don’t move another fuckin inch.”

Stern, meanwhile, keeps his weapon trained on Rian even as he undoes Barclays bonds. 

“I'm a specialized FBI agent. Did you honestly think I hadn’t been taught to shoot and hit a small target?”

“As far as I was concerned, you are nothing more than his human companion. Well,” Rian’s eyes narrow, “I won’t be making that mistake again.” 

Splintering wood at the end of the hall.

“Ah, reinforcements.” He grins as the shrieks of feral Sylphs grow louder.

“Barclay? Joe?” Duck’s voice calls from the other direction. 

“And my next person to visit.” Rian begins to turn, unbothered by the blood dripping on the floor.

“Don’t even think about it. And hands up.” 

Rian raises his arms, still smiling. Then his wing shoots out, catching the glass bottle of Snakestooth and launching it at Stern and Barclay. 

Barclay tucks inward, Stern pivoting to cover him. It’s not an injection, but he cant bear the risk of a drop getting in Barclays mouth or eyes. 

Stern, when he was younger, had a run in with stinging nettles during a camping trip. The liquid splashing his cheek and the back of his neck, burning on contact, takes him right back to that moment. 

“Shit, you’re smokin FBI boy!”

“Oh fuck, babe-”

“It’s fine.” He turns back in time to see Rian disappear out the window, “Guess humans don’t have an immunity against it either.”

“Oh thank fuck y’all are okay. Ish.” Duck stands in the door, unfamiliar sword in hand and Indrid looming behind him. 

“Indrid, have I mentioned how glad I am you didn’t marry that guy?” Barclay loops the ropes previously tying him around one of the other mothpeople.

“That confirms it, then.” Indrid growls, “Duck, you and I will go after him. Mama, Aubrey and the others are holding off the new wave of attackers, but they could use some back-up.”

“Say no more. Barclay, toss these fuckers in the storage closet and let’s go protect the homestead. Again. Christ this is gettin old.” She mutters, Duck and Indrid stepping aside to let her pass. Stern follows her, only for Barclay to grab his arm and pull him into a ferocious kiss. 

“Thanks for saving my life, babe.”

“I’d do it again in an in-mphmmmmm.” Another kiss, even harder, Barclay picking him up like he's as light as coffecup. 

“Uhhh, we’ll leave y’all to it then.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Duck and Indrid turn away from the lovebirds and take off down the hallway. 

“Gettin the feelin this ain’t just him bein a bitter ex.”

“Correct. I have some theories, but quite frankly I care less about his motives and more about stopping him and this madness he’s orchestrated.”

“I’m followin your lead, darlin.”

As the pass the last few rooms before the lobby, a door flys open and Duck is yanked inside. An alarm trill echoes in the hallway. 

“I’ll be fine! Keep goin and I’ll meet you out there.” He grabs his attacker and hurls them towards the bed.

Then he sees who it is.

“Shit! Mr. Cold, I’m so fuckin sorry, I thought you were one of the Sylphs attackin us.”

“We wouldn’t be” Mrs Cold hisses from behind him, “If you hadn’t interfered with Indrid.”

“Interfered? Do we gotta go over the thing where he’s a grown-ass mothman and can do what he wants again?”

“He was going to be _spared_.” Mr. Cold snarls, “but you had too much of a hold on him and now, now-” he chirrs mournfully. 

“Spared by...shit, this is Rian again, ain’t it?”

“Yes. He told us that Indrid had clearly been swayed by the same lies as many of our kind, that his fondness for humans had blinded him to the truth about what happened when Sylvain was ‘healed.’ When he returned to us with the news of your marriage, we feared there would be no chance to change his mind. Whatever lies you told him to convince him to agree to this arrangement, we were certain that if we took the time to show him your true mettle, he would understand. He would learn the truth and help us.”

“The gauntlet, all that shit you put us through, that had fuck-all to do with you actually wanting him to marry the right person for him?” Duck shouts.

The two Colds trade a guilty look.

“And, and vistin here, that wasn’t about gettin to know me and the home Indrid chose. That was tied to this conspiracy bullshit too, wasn’t it?”

“We knew Rian would begin his plan soon after you left. “ Mrs. Cold says, quietly, “He offered us a days head start, one last chance to make Indrid see reason and join us. But if that failed, he said Indrid would be treated like all the other traitors. And now, because you used him for your own ends, you manipulated him, we will lose our son forever.”

Duck takes a deep breath and, when he opens his eyes and is still seeing red, takes five more. 

“Let’s get one thing real fuckin straight.” His voice is icily level, trapping all his rage beneath it, “If anyone is tryin to use Indrid, it’s Rian. He wants his powers to help him with his own goals, just like before. Second, I love Indrid more than anythin in either of our worlds. I thought I proved that by playin your games even when you kept riggin them against me.”

“We wanted him to see that you did not belong together. You do not make sense as a pair.”

Duck pauses, searches for the argument that will make them see.

“You’re right. We don’t make sense together. I spent most of my life tryin to avoid weird shit. He’s the weirdest man I’ve ever met, which is no mean feat. He’s a legendary cryptid that’s been damn near everywhere, I’m a middle-aged dude who’s barely been outside of my hometown. He leaves so many drawins around the house that sometimes the cat gets lost in them. He can be overly blunt, and weird as fuck, and I will never understand why he drinks nog straight from the carton. He’ll never stop blamin himself for the disasters he couldn’t stop, no matter how many times I remind him it wasn’t his fault. He totaled his Winnebago to save me, and I’m still kinda mad that he’d risk his life for me that way. Then I think about it, and I know I’d do the same fuckin thing for him, in an instant. Because when I’m havin a shitty day I remember I’m comin home to him at the end of it and it makes things better. I feel like myself around him, and he makes me wanna be a better man. Because I love him. At the end of the day, that's all I got as a reason: I love him more than you can fuckin imagine.”

The Colds exchange another look. 

Then Mrs. Colds fingers spark, and Duck tenses. 

“Those are charming words. But they will not save our son. Only being rid of you might mean he is spared.”

Duck is frantically contemplating whether he can raise a sword at his in-laws when the door opens behind him.

“Enough of this.”

Al, in their Sylph form, steps beside him and extends a wing, blocking Duck from the path of any oncoming spell. 

“I have listened to you complain for decades about how Indrid never came home. Yet you have done nothing to understand his reasons when he offered them. And you have done nothing to welcome someone new into the family. That is before we even get to the issue of buying Rian’s nonsensical theories.” Al points to the window, and the moon appearing through the clouds, “when the gate opens again, go home. And if you continue to help Rian, know that when this is all over, neither of your children will return with you.”

With that they turn, sweeping Duck out of the room with them. 

“Thanks.” He rests a friendly hand on the grey wing, then looks up, confused, “I thought Indrid told you to stay with the Hornets.”

“He did. But we hit on a rather clever plan. It turns out that my fellow Sylphs can be herded when they’re feral, if said herding is done by very loud, two-wheeled vehicles. Hollis let me ride on theirs with them so I could use my small bit of magic to prevent any from straying. We drove them up here to the springs, hoping that calming them might make them stop fighting.”

“Good thinkin.” 

“I have my moments.” They reach the lobby, somewhat trashed but salvageable, the remaining battle seeming to be between the Pine Guard and the Sylphs refusing to enter the springs to be doused. 

“....Do you think Indrid will be alright with me getting a motorcycle?”

Duck laughs, “I’d like to see him try and stop you.”

\----------------------------------------------  
Five minutes prior, Indrid hovers in the air, watching his sibling and the Hornets arrive. 

“Well, it seems they will be getting a motorcycle.” Indrid murmurs, before continuing his scan of the nearby woods. He hopes he’ll find Rian before he reaches the gate. 

Instead, he finds him already at the wooden archway. 

“Coming to stop me, self-appointed, ineffective protector of Earth?”

“Rian, I do not know what you are trying to let through that gate. But for goodness sake, stop this. Or at least give the others a chance to recover in the springs. Them being feral won’t help anyone.”

“On the contrary, it helps me greatly. For starters, it keeps them from having misgivings or being able to be negotiated with. But more than that, you all managed to convince Kepler that Sylphs are harmless. Wouldn’t it be convenient, then, if they received proof otherwise. And, say, decided that it was best to strike out and attack Sylvain before they could send more?”

“You, you want it to look as though the humans are attacking first. Even if it means risking your own people.” Indrid keeps one eye on the beam as it begins opening the gate. 

“Yes. It will help so many more Sylphs see that the theory I spread was correct; Aubrey Little did not return Sylvain to her full strength. She weakened her by forcing her to live within a human vessel, so that even if she was restored humans could once again attack our home and triumph this time. The fear generated by that theory was, after all, how I managed to fund my greatest weapon.”

Indrid remembers a conversation, long ago, one of the first that caused him to question Rian’s motives for courting him. 

“The bleaching light. You finished it.” 

“Indeed.”

He launches himself forward, grabbing for the mirror and, when that fails, Rians wounded arm. The other Sylph anticipates him too well, trapping him with one arm around his throat. 

“Ah ah, not so capable without those visions, are we?” 

Indrid elbows him, wings thrashing. 

“As much as I want you to see the bleaching light, there’s something else to view first. Come, let us watch a coup.”

With that, he pulls Indrid through the gate. As they enter Sylvain, Indrid sees a large, clear crystal drum being pushed up the nearby hill.

The gate is still open.

He concentrates, calls upon all his remaining magic and channels it forward. There’s a burst of orange light and as the portal explodes, he sees the gate turn to dust on the other side. 

The door between worlds has been destroyed. 

\-------------------------------------

Ned and Thacker, on orders from Mama, hit the clearing just in time to see Rian and Indrid disappear and the gate collapse, the explosion knocking them both backwards. 

“Well fuck me running. Did Indrid do that?” Ned peers at the wreckage of the gate cautiously as Thacker kneels down and touches the ash.

“Probably. Hopin he had a good reason.”

Footsteps crashing through the underbrush, and then Duck appears in the clearing. 

“Shit, the gate, I saw Indrid fly this way.”

“It appears he followed his unpleasant former suitor here.” Ned bites his thumbnail, uncertain how to say the next part. Watches his friend take in the ashes of the gate, and the absence of anyone else in the clearing.

“Wait, then where’d they go?”

“Uh, well, my friend-”

“Ned” Duck turns to him, eyes filling with dawning fear, “where the fuck is Indrid?”

\--------------------------------------

Indrid skids along the grassy, broken free of Rian's hold by the force of the spell. He pushes off as best he can, flying high and fast towards the palace. Below he sees a crowd of armed Sylphs charging the main doors, hears trumpets of alarm from within the walls. 

He dives through an open skylight, coming to a stop above a crowd of soldiers, Vincent yelling orders as they move into formation. Continues his search, zipping down hallways and staircases in search of Janelle. 

On an upstroke, clawed hands grip his wing, spinning him out of control and down a flight of stairs. He stands but Rian is on him again in an instant, both clawing and thrashing, tangled in violent flight through the empty lower halls. 

“Rian, for goodness sake, listen to reason! Sylvain is healthy and peace for the first time in over a century. Don’t you” he spins them, slamming his opponent into a wall, “don’t you remember what it was like? Watching fellow Sylphs wither away, flee their homes as the Quell spread, be exiled for daring to take a little more than needed, heavens, I was not even here for the worst of it but my heart still aches from the glimpses of how bad it became.”

“You’re right, you weren't here.” Rian grips him, sending them down yet another staircase, feathers breaking on the stone and seemingly uncaring that his arm is bleeding once again, “so you did not see what I did. The weakening of Sylvain made her people stronger, it hardened us. Only the truly worthy can survive in such circumstances, and that makes the populace better. Peace has already made us weaker, overgenerous. I do not care one way or another if the rumor I spread is true; but a war will harden us once again, and the humans will likely damage the heart of Sylvain in it’s course again. The conflict will make our people great again. ”

Indrid opens his mouth to protest and glances down; they’re in flight above an abyss, one leading to the center of the planet. In their battle-blindness, they’ve landed in the most sacred of places. 

Then there’s a crack and he screams in pain, wing snapped at an unnatural angle by Rians hand.

“Peace has made you weak as well, Indrid. Though you were never strong to begin with, merely lucky to be gifted abilities that were wasted on you. Still, they have their uses.” He pulls Indrid close, tightening his hold on the broken wing and Indrid chitters with pain, “This is the last offer. Join me and use your powers to help me bring our people glory. In exchange, I will guarantee one thing: Duck Newton will be allowed to live.”

Indrid meets his eyes.

“Oh yes, unlike your parents I am well aware your love for each other is quite real. He may live out his life in a cell, but you would at least be able to see him. The same cannot be said if he is executed as an enemy of Sylvain.”

It is tempting, through the haze of pain, to accept the offer. To not remember the stubborn, noble man he loves, to listen to Duck's voice in his head. 

“No. Duck would not want me to turn my back on everything we worked for just to save him. He may not _like_ the alternative, but in the end he would know it was the right thing.”

“That is truly your answer?”

“Yes. And, to borrow one of his favorite turns of phrase, you may go fuck yourself.”

Rian smiles without mirth or mercy “Very well.”

He lets go.

Indrid falls, flapping uselessly, the light above growing fainter each time his twists in the air bring the world above into view. 

And then there’s nothing except darkness.


	12. You Promised You'd Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid falls. Aubrey repairs. Duck makes a threat.

Indrid knows three things as he falls.

One: after Sylvain was restored, the configuration beneath the castle and the crystal changed, became more open, had fewer secret doors. Beyond that, no one is quite sure what it looks like now.

Two: He is going to discover the new structure of the cave by slamming into it at terminal velocity.

Three: He is never going to see Duck Newton again.

He shuts his eyes, urges his mind to use it’s last moments recalling a happy moment from his life, not the multitude of mistakes that flash before. 

A memory zips by and he grasps for it, holds it close; Duck, beneath him on the couch, snow falling outside. Duck grinning as he kisses him for the first time.

In all his life, that is the one decision he has never regretted. 

Warmth spreads across his back. He must be reaching the center of Sylvain. It won’t be long now.

The angle of his descent changes, and he’s no longer spinning downwards. He’s being pulled sideways, not nearly as fast, and into the path of two immense balls of light.

His injured wing catches in the wind gusts of the orbit and he chitters, pained, and hugs his arms across his body. This is his fate, then. To orbit Sylvain and the Quell until he dies.

Then, strangely, the stormy swirl of air and energy slows, and a platform of orange light comes into view. His feet scrape across it and he manages to land, falling to his knees and clutching his sides, breathing wild and panicked.

_Indrid Cold?_

He looks up, struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing, “Aubrey?”

The woman before him smiles, and the voice in his head answers, _Not quite._

He falls forward, prostrating himself before the goddess.

“My, my lady. I’m so sorry.”

_For what?_

He sits up, gaze staying on the fire-colored floor, “I have failed you. Twice. As we speak, Rian is preparing a weapon that will wipe out much of Kepler, and will bring war as a result. My friends will re-open the gate, looking for me, and allow him out instead.”

_I would say that is Rian’s doing, not yours._

“I should have seen it coming.”

_He was planning and plotting above me all this while, and I barely saw the shape of what was happening until it was almost too late. Besides, your friends have dealt with such dangers before. Have faith in them. I do.”_

Indrid puts a hand on the engagement ring hanging around his neck.

_What is the other failure of which you speak?_

“I failed the errand on which I was sent many years ago. I did not find a way to heal you. I chose to remain in an alien land, help it’s people, rather than return and do what I could to help you. I could have used the gifts bestowed upon me to mitigate your decline. Searching for an answer on Earth was the last duty given to me, my purpose. And I did not fulfill it.”

A warm hand rests atop his head, and his whole being buzzes with strange electricity.

_I am not angry with you for that. I forgive you for it, even if you cannot do the same for yourself. That is my right._

Indrid looks up, and Sylvain smiles. Behind her another form takes shape, becoming a second young woman. 

**I was angry when you did not return.**

_As was your right_

Indrid attempts another bow, apology already forming on his tongue, but the Quell merely shakes her head. 

**I am not angry any more.**

Sylvain touches his cheek and he turns his face to her once more. 

_I am proud of you, Indrid Cold._

“What?” He whispers.

_You say you misused the gifts you were given. But I did not give them to you for any one reason. I do not expect my children to live only in my service. I do not love them only when they do what is best for me. But more than that, why would I not be proud of you, you who went to a strange world and saw, not somewhere to conquer or fear, but somewhere to protect and to love? Why would I be unhappy that you demonstrated compassion and curiosity?_

She cups his face, though he can barely see through the blur of tears and the swirling light.

_How have you failed me, Indrid Cold?_

In lieu of an answer, his body curls forward, his one good wing wrapping around him, and he sobs. They are pathetic, ugly sounds, and they are exactly what he needs. Sylvain releases his face, let’s it drop into his waiting hands, tears streaming between his fingers and down his wrists. He would like to say he is cleansed, that the warmth of his home, here in the heart of his planet, spreads through him, that Sylvain's forgiveness seeps into the darkest, secret places of his heart, the places he will never forgive himself for.

No, as it all wells up, the sorrow and regret seems endless, unforgivable. 

**It will not heal all at once. It may not ever heal. Pain, regret, loss, these are parts of the balance of the universe. You cannot be rid of them. But they do not have to rule you.**

The Quell joins Sylvain in the edges of his vision. As his vision clears, he sees their hands intertwined. 

He notices, too, that the Quell is wearing hiking boots. 

That is what does it. 

He laughs, high and a bit hysterical, antennae shaking wildy as he giggles into his palm. How absurd, how sweet, how utterly encapsulating the strange duality of his existence. 

The Quell raises an eyebrow.’

“Th-thacker has been rubbing off on you.”

**They are comfortable**

_You are not the only one to love people on earth. Indeed, you are in good company_. Sylvain smiles at her wife.

 **The best**. The Quell smiles back, lifting a hand to caress Sylvain’s cheek.

Indrid sniffs, remembers the moment, the timeline, “My ladies, please, there must be some way for me to help them. I can still help stop this war.”

Sylvain makes a small gesture in the air, and his wing no longer aches. The futures flow back, a tidal wave of possibilities and he shuts his eyes, to give them time to arrange themselves. 

“Thank you.” He bows one final time, then stands, spreading his wings and looking up, home once again in reach. 

As he takes off, the Quell and Sylvain dissolve, joining the rest of their true forms. In the whistles of the wind and hum of light, he hears

**_Good luck._ **

\---------------------------------------------

“Aubrey, this is takin too long!” Mama calls over her shoulder as she, Stern, and Barclay struggle to keep the remaining feral Sylphs in their bonds. There’s only so many that Moira (and a rather proud of himself Boyd) can hold immobilized and spinning in the air. 

“I’m dunking as fast as I can!” Aubrey magically shoves another Sylph into the springs, holding them in place until their breathing slows and eyes clear. 

“Swear to fuck, after this I’m rebuldin the springs so they’re a goddamn olympic swimmin pool, in case this shit happens again.”

“Ooh, or like a wave pool.” Aubrey says, as she and Hollis help the befuddled, damp Sylph out of the spring, “Wait, holy shit I got it! Moira, Boyd, put those other Sylphs by the rest.”

Two dozen hissing and growling figures hover above the equally enraged figures trapped by nets.

Aubrey takes a deep breath, and launches a massive tidal wave out of the springs and onto the feral Sylphs (and Boyd). 

In the ensuing spluttering and shaking off of fur and feathers, more sounds appear.

“What happened?”

“Where are we?”

“How...why…”

“Thank fuck that worked.” Aubrey plops down onto a nearby stone. 

“Alright, y’all are gonna dry off, then we’re gonna go into the lodge and have a nice, reasonable chat. Anybody who raises a fuss and keeps tryin this harebrained attack is gettin locked in the basement until they get some sense. We clear?” Mama shoulders the shotgun, scanning the group for signs of resistance. 

None appear. 

“Thought so. Aubrey, you take a breather.”

“Aubrey!”

“Or not.” Aubrey turns just as Duck bursts through the doors leading from the lodge to the springs.

“Aubrey, the gate, Indrid, exploded.”

“Indrid _exploded_?”

“No! Ugh, fuck, he exploded the gate, we gotta get it open again, he’s in there with Rian and who knows what else, Aubrey please.”

“Duck” Aubrey rests a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll do what I can, but rebuilding the gate took months last time.”

She’s never seen Duck look this close to crying. Aubrey squeezes his shoulder, reassuring “C’mon, show me how bad it is.”

\----------------

“Huh.” Aubrey surveys the ruins of the gate, hands on her hips and mouth quirked in a frown. 

“That bad?” 

“No, actually.” She circles the wreckage, poking some with the toe of her black boots, “with my third-eye I can see there’s like, shreds of the gate left. Like if someone broke your window; most of it’s gone but there’s slivers around the edges. I think I can use them to rebuild it.”

“Thank fuckin god.” Duck slumps onto a fallen log 

“Thacker, can you try something for me? I’m wondering if we can reach Sylvain or the Quell, they might be able to channel energy through me.” 

Thacker steps beside her as Ned sits down beside Duck. A well-manicured hand rests on his back, comforting in it’s weight. 

“Christ, was this what it was like for him? When we used the C4, Indrid was on Earth. I knew he was worried about me, pretty damn clear from how he reacted when we got back but...Jesus, Ned, this is unbearable.”

“I know my friend. But we musn’t discount your lepidopterus love; he’s very resourceful.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

Indrid finally resurfaces in the castle, and promptly crashes headfirst into Vincent.

“Oh goodness, I’m sorry, but I have to hurry--wait, the attack, is it-”

“Mostly over. The Interpreter received word from Sylvain that gave us time to prepare. Rian is not as charismatic as he believes he is; there were only two hundred attackers, and they were easily subdued. He’s staying by the former gate, though we may-”

“-Launch an attack on him there no, do not do that. He has a very powerful weapon. I will handle him. I have a plan.”

This is a lie.

Even as he flies up the hill, even as he scans the futures for guidance, he is low on plans. 

Rian is alone when he lands. Indrid grins when he sees the explanation why coming.

“They-”

“-Abdandoned you. Yes, it turns out coups take more than a large ego to accomplish.” Indrid grins at the look of shock on the general’s face. “It’s over, Rian. Get rid of this infernal device” he points at the Bleaching Light, “and surrender. Accept that most of us prefer a peaceful life and an intact home.”

“No. Once the weapon casts it’s light, my plan will come to success.”

“That gate is not opening any time soon. It took them months last time.”

The future changes. 

Oh no.

“Guys!” Aubrey’s voice behind him, only slightly distorted, “It’s working.”

“They expedited things, just for you.” Rian smirks, draws two symbols on the clear crystal. A light, painfully white, glows at it’s center.

“How does it feel, knowing that human’s attachment to you will lead to a war?”

Indrid hisses, then hears Duck in the distance. As he does, a new future appears.

“Duck! Duck I need you to listen to me!”

“Indrid? Hold on darlin, we’re gonna get you home.”

“No! Not yet, you can’t, if you let me through now, Rian will fire a weapon and destroy most of Kepler.”

“Weapon? Fuck, okay, get clear of it darlin, we’ll come for you soon.”

“Close the gate. I’ll take care of the weapon. I love you. I’m sorry,”

“Sorry? Oh, oh no, don’t you fuckin dare! Indrid Cold I swear to fuck if you play the hero I’ll divorce you before we're even fuckin married.”

Indrid ignores him, steps in front of the weapon. Rian listens to the exchange, amused.

“Really? How do you propose to stop this? The weapon is mere seconds from activating, and that gate is still a little bit open."

Indrid glances behind him; he can see trees, and Duck and Aubrey talking frantically, though their words disappear under the high, horrible hum of the Light. 

“The Light requires distance of some degree to work. If it is surrounded, and most of it blocked, with nowhere to go the energy within it will cause it to shatter.”

“You wouldn’t-”

Indrid throws himself forward, wings stretched wide, encircling the weapon as light bursts out of it. Rian shrieks, enraged, and does exactly what Indrid needed him to. He tries to dislodge Indrid, blocking the remaining Light with his own body and wings in the process.

It burns. Sweet earth and Sylvain does it burn, like each atom of his body is catching fire one by one in a slow, agonizing chain. 

Through the roar of blood in his ears, the crystal clinks and splinters beneath him. He watches the futures. In all of them, the gate closes in time, and the weapon is destroyed. 

In all of them, he is destroyed with it.

Some futures cannot be altered. 

He shuts his eyes and his mind goes quieter and quieter.

Two hands reach across galaxies behind him, and pull him through.

\-------------------------------------------------

Warmth.

Warmth and dim crackling. 

Goodness, is this what death is? Is he frozen in his last moment forever?

Why is something fuzzy touching his face?

He opens his eyes to a welcome sight. 

Cross-beams, high in a ceiling, and a second-hand rug under his wings. 

“Holy shit, guys, he’s waking up!”

“Barclay please, not so loud, everything hurts.”

“Sorry bud.” The cook touches his hand.

“Where’s Duck?”

Barclay points to a nearby chair. The ranger is curled up, hat in his lap.

“Only reason he’s not awake is Aubrey had to knock him out. Not great for him to stay up two days solid.”

“I have been asleep for _two days_?”

“Yep. We’ve been bringing you out here every so often to warm up by the fire. Keeps your core temperature where it needs to be. Gate’s still closed by the way. Thacker managed to get through to the Quell last night. Your ex is dead, and whatever that thing was he was trying to bring through is in pieces. Uh, speaking of which.” He nods, indicating the bandages wrapped around most of Indrid's torso and plastered on one cheek, “Aubrey did her best with those, but some of your feathers are permanently bleached, and the skin is scarred. Not sure how it’ll translate to a human form.”

“Given that I did not expect to be here, I cannot find it in me to worry over scars.”

“Fair enough. You want me to get Aubrey so we can wake Duck up?”

“Please.” Indrid crawls over to the chair, managing to sit up so that he and Duck are face to face, “wait, before you go, do you know who pulled me through?”

Barclay chuckles, “Who do you think?”

Indrid strokes Duck’s cheek, “I died. In every future. It seemed unchangeable.”

“You ever known that to stop him?” Barclay asks as he stands.

“I suppose not.” Indrid listens to Barclay go, not caring to take his eyes away from his favorite sight in the world. 

In his sleep, Duck shifts, his hand coming up to clutch his engagement necklace protectively. 

Indrid bends forward, kisses his hand as best he can in this form. Then he sits and waits, patiently, for the only future that matters to him to open his eyes.


	13. Home to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay bakes. Al takes a ride. Indrid and Duck make a promise.

A late-April sun rises over Kepler, West Virginia. 

In the kitchen of Amnesty Lodge, Barclay steps back, admiring the five tier, dark chocolate cake with caramel frosting that he’s just finished smoothing out. He washes his hands, drys them as the first rays of sun peek into the windows, and slips a small golden ring onto his left hand. It’s only been a month, and so the weight of it is still unfamiliar. It did not take a days worth of misdirection for it to arrive on his finger; just a picnic for two and Joseph shyly producing a small, black box from from his pocket. 

The kitchen door swings open behind him, and his fiance appears, cup of coffee in each hand. 

“That looks phenomenal.” Joseph passes him the mug full of black coffee. 

“Thanks babe, I hope they like it.”

“How could they not? Although, did you tell them about the toppers?”

“Nope” Barcly chuckles, looping his arm over the agent’s shoulders as he glaces at the Smokey the Bear and Mothman figures, “that part’s a surprise.”

One floor up, Aubrey Little wakes up, rolls under the covers to kiss Dani on the nose. 

“Morning cutie.”

“Morning, fireblossom.”

Dani hooks their ankles together, “You excited?”

“Hell yeah. You know I fucking love an excuse for a party.”

“Not sure this counts as an excuse so much as, like, a reason.” Dani kisses her cheek, keeps tracing her lips down her neck. 

“We could even have a bonus celebration of our own.” Aubrey bounces her eyebrows and Dani grins.

“Moooom, can we go get breakfast now?”

Aubrey snickers as Dani giggles into her shoulder, “Sure thing, doctor. And remind me; next time we visit, I think you’re old enough to get your own room. 

\--------------------------------------

Late morning warms into the early afternoon. The Sylphs, both those who live in Kepler and those who came the night before from Sylvain, pass the hours decorating the lobby and the hallways, ironing shirts, picking out make-up and clothes for the evening. Vincent, in a human form for the first time, stabilizes a ladder so Jake can hang lights in the shape of pine trees. 

Near the town center, cars are beginning to file in. Visitors, some who called Kepler home once upon a time, check in to hotels and catch up with one another to pass the hours before the main event. 

In a room above the Hornets Nest, Al finishes asking their new friends for style advice. 

“Definitely the red. It’ll go with his whole…” Hollis makes a circle around each eye. 

“Red it is.” Al sets the shirt carefully aside, “And the skirt isn’t too flashy?”

“It’s a wedding, pretty sure as long as you’re not wearing a white dress you’re good.”

Al folds the outfit, placing it into a bag. Tugs on their sweater (Indrid has advised them multiple times on how many layers to wear during a given season. He even made a list), and wraps a scarf around their neck. 

They still get the urge to nibble the scarf, something that never happens with clothes on Sylvain. They're learning to ignore it. 

“Thank you all again for your help, and for letting me stay here. I should go help him get ready, but I’ll see you at the reception.” The wave goodbye before hurrying down the stairs and out the back door to their favorite earth purchase: a vintage Triumph motorcycle. 

As they roar away in the direction of topside, Keith turns to Hollis.

“How the fuck did they learn to ride that well?”

The leader of the Hornets shrugs, “Some people are just naturals, I guess.”

By the midafternoon, Leo, Minerva, and Juno are busy setting up the final chairs in the Kepler Community center. Juno wipes her hands on her jeans, checks her watch, and excuses herself. 

Two blocks south, Ned Chicane flips the sign on the Cryptonomica door to “closed” smoothing down his beard and checking the lapels of his suit in the reflection.

“Closin early and missing out on the chance for some extra cash? Small town life has made you soft, old man.” Boyds’ reflection floats behind his, smirking. 

“Some things, my dear Boyd, are more important than monetary gain.”

Boyd snorts, “Turn around you bloody sentimentalist.” 

Ned turns, Boyd floating so his feet have plausible deniability as to whether they’re touching the ground or not. Concentrating, his hands materialize enough to adjust the knot in Ned’s tie. 

“Wish you hadn’t ruined the Lincoln. Be much nicer turning up in somethin a bit flashy.”

“Don’t bellyache so much, my dear, or you won’t have enough energy to stay visible in polite society.” Ned offers his arm and Boyd almost manages to link it with his own, settles for hovering as close to Ned as he can.

“Let’s get a move on then, wouldn’t want to be late.”

\---------------------------------------------

“I’m not runnin behind right?” Duck checks his hair in the mirror for the eightieth time, a tic that has gone from calming him to making him feel like a bored housecat. 

“What? No, goofus, the ceremony isn’t for another fifteen minutes. You really think your little sis would let you be late?” Jane eases him away from the mirror, patting his cheek reassuringly when he sits done in a nearby folding chair. 

“Yeah, yeah, wait, fuck, Juno, you got-”

“The rings?” Juno pats the inside pocket of her suit, “yep, right here. Just like they were the last time you asked.”

He looks sheepishly at the ground, “Sorry, pre-weddin jitters and all that shit.” 

“It’s okay. Though you might wanna think about breathin a little more, can’t kiss your groom if you’re passed out on the fuckin floor.” Juno smiles, “Speakin of which, I’m gonna head out and start gettin the last bit of stuff ready. Then it’ll be showtime.”

“Yeah, I should check on mom and dad. Last I saw, that Ned guy was chatting with them.”

Duck tries not to think about what tapestry of bullshit Ned is spinning for his parents. Some things are best left unknown. 

The two women head out, leaving Duck once again checking and rechecking his appearance. It’s not like he couldn’t go out and talk with his guests, or even that he doesn’t want to. But there are so many feelings bouncing inside him at such a high intensity that he’s sure if anyone asked him how he’s doing, he’s brain would stall out completely. 

He takes off his jacket. The suspenders aren’t too much, right? Indrid said he liked them, that he liked Duck keeping a piece of his daily look for the occasion. 

The jacket reappears in is periphery, held open so he can put it back on. 

“Thought you were goin to finish sett-”

A purr fills the air as he slips it back on, and two wiry arms wrap around his middle. 

“Hey, darlin.” He whispers, leaning back into Indrid’s embrace. 

“Hello, sweetheart. I thought it might be nice to take a few moments to ourselves before all eyes are on us.” Indrid nuzzles his neck, purr vibrating across his skin. 

“Good call. Seems like you’re excited.”

Indrid turns him, and he finds his husband to be in a jet-black suit with a red tie, glasses perched on his nose, “How could I not be? I am marrying the love of my life.”

Duck blushes, presses his face into Indrids shoulder in an attempt to conceal, “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

“Which one of us looks like a teenager asking out their first crush?”

“Hush.” He kisses Indrid quickly as the door opens. 

“There you two are!” Aubrey hurries over, throwing her arms around them both in a hug, “eeeeeh, I’m so excited!”

“Us too, Lady Flame” Duck gazes up at Indrid, “us too.”

\----------------------------

It’s the late afternoon when Duck Newton and Indrid Cold stand facing one another. Juno Divine, Aubrey Little, and Jane Newton stand behind Duck, Barclay and Al do the same for Indrid. Ned stands between the couple, several slips of paper in his hands. 

“My dear friends, it is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to this most momentous day. Today, we will bear witness to our friends Duck Newton and Indrid Cold as they join together in holy matrimony.”

“Ned, we ain’t even in a church.” Duck hisses, Juno stifling a laugh behind him. 

“Very well. As they join in non-denominational matrimony.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“The couple has decided to keep their vows short, which all of us sitting in those folding chairs greatly appreciate.” 

A polite laugh from the crowd.

“Duck, do you take Indrid to be your husband, to love and honor, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health-”

“Or as giant moth” Jane teases so only Duck hears.

“As long as you both shall live?”

Duck meets Indrid’s eyes, and the Sylph smiles wide. 

“I do.”

“Indrid, do you take Duck to be your husband, to love and honor, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Indrid says as soon as Ned stops speaking, visibly biting his lip to keep from getting ahead. 

“Then by the power vested in me by the great state of West Virginia, at least as far as anyone can prove, I pronounce you husbands, oh no, one moment, I nearly forgot the rings.” Ned says as Juno elbows him. She hands Duck a silver band with a stripe of green in the center, Indrid a gold one with a red stripe. Duck slides the silver ring onto Indrid's finger, the Sylph doing the same for him with the gold. 

“Now you may kiss one another.” Ned proclaims. 

Before Duck can go in for the kiss, Indrid puts a hand on his glasses. 

Then he tears them off and tosses them into the crowd.

Most people track their path, Mama and a few others tensing in anticipation of Duck’s entire extended family discovering the truth about his husband. Duck, however, finds he can’t tear his eyes away from Indrid. 

Because he hasn’t changed a bit. 

Indrid wiggles his ring finger with a conspiratorial grin, wedding band catching the light. 

Duck cups his cheeks and pulls him into a glorious, deep kiss. 

Their friends and family cheer uproariously as Indrid dips him, bringing up just as he gets lightheaded. Indrid holds out his hand just as Leo offers him the red glasses he captured before they hit the ground. 

Indrid tucks them into his pocket, murmurs “Well, I can’t completely surrender my signature look, now can I?”

Duck kisses him again. Keeps kissing him even as the applause dies down and Ned, after a moment of awkward silence, says, “well, that concludes the ceremony. There will be a reception at Amnesty Lodge in two hours, giving us all ample time to stretch our legs and catch up, and the happy couple time to get the room that they so clearly need.”

“Sorry.” Duck mumbles as they break apart.

This is, and to this day remains, the only successful lie Duck Newton has ever told. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Not everyone takes the two hour break in the festivities. 

As dusk falls, a small group gathers in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge. Alastrum Cold sets a paper, coated in ornate writing, in front of their brother and brother in law. 

Al reads a translation of the High Sylph on the paper aloud, “the undersigned are recognized by all regions and provinces of Sylvain as partners and are entitled to all the rights and protections that offers.”

Beneath the proclamation are the signatures of Mr and Mrs. Cold, collected by Al before they came across for the wedding. 

Two little squiggles. That’s what Duck ran that pointlessly combative gauntlet to obtain. 

He’d do it again in an instant. 

Indrid signs his name, passes the pen to Duck for him to do the same. 

“Gotta say, after all y’all went through, was expectin there to be more pomp and circumstance and shit.” Mama says.

“Turns out at least one mothperson custom isn’t obtuse.” Stern comments to Barclay.

“Well, there is one more part. Aubrey, Moira, are you ready?” Indrid looks to the two women, who both nod and take their places, Moira at the piano and Aubrey in a spell-casting stance. 

Duck produces the enchanted ring from his pocket as Indrid removes his wedding band, human forms replaced with Sylph one. One hand rests on Duck’s hip, the other is outstretched, palm up. He takes the offered hand, brings the other to Indrid’s shoulder. 

Moira begins playing what Duck can now identify as a Sylvan waltz. Until tonight, he’s only heard it from Indrid, his husband humming the tune as the two of them practiced for this moment deep in the privacy of the woods. 

Orange lights dance around their feet, Aubrey beaming at both of them as the lights start spiraling around them. 

Slowly and in tandem, they flap their wings, Indrid guiding them first in a vertical circle, until they’re halfway between the beams of the roof and their friends watching below. As they dance, Duck looks at the large lightening stripe of white, starting at his throat and ending at his hip, in Indrid’s once-dark feathers, and pulls him a little closer. 

They glance down and Indrid nods. Aubrey makes a sweeping gesture in the air and all the lights in the lodge go out, only to be replaced by hundreds of points of white light, a carpet of stars beneath Indrid and Ducks feet. 

The tempo of the waltz brights, and Indrid spins them across the stars, smiling brighter than all of them combined. Duck keeps his wing beats steady even as Indrid pulls them into increasingly elaborate movements; the counterbalance, the consistency, mingling with the joyous and spontaneous bursts of beauty, these are the elements of a true Sylvan waltz.

“You sayin I’m the borin one?” Duck teased the night they first began to practice.

“Hardly. My life is never more interesting than when we are together. But when I think of you, I think of strength and a steady hand and heart. That is what this role in the dance requires.”

At the crescendo of the dance, Indrid trills happily and Duck answers him, hears their friends laughing with delight beneath them. Then the music slows, softens, becomes no more than a music-box melody as they descend in a measured spiral. 

They’ve only a few wing beats to go when Duck’s wing cramps, still not quite used to such prolonged flight. He falls. 

Indrid is there before it happens, steadying him and keeping them both aloft until he recovers. 

Duck giggles as they touch down.

“What’s so funny, my sweet?” Indrid murmurs.

A late-April sun sets as Duck touches his cheek, “Indrid Cold, I do believe I’m fallin for you all over again.”


	14. I Sleep to Dream the Trail Beneath Your Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck and Indrid take a well-deserved honeymoon.

Indrid is lounging in a hot tub, morning sun warming his face, with nothing but the sound of birds and other woodland creatures going about their business. 

He reaches around to his right, finding the warm ceramic of his coffee mug, prepared just the way he likes it; one third coffee, two thirds caramel creamer. Takes a sip and sits up, blinking as his gaze settles on his husband, sprawled on a deck chair. Duck’s hat is pulled down, shading his eyes, an Edward Abbey paperback splayed open on his chest. His breathing is even, matching the peaceful tempo of the world around them.

It’s no surprise that he’s tired; they were up until two a.m, fucking like the newlyweds they are. Indrid’s never been on a honeymoon before, but this matches with his general understanding of what goes on during one. 

Duck’s nap offers him an excellent opportunity to prepare for a likely future. He hops out of the hot tub, towels off and heads into the luxurious cabin they’re renting. The trip had been a gift, arranged by their friends, the two of them having planned a much simpler getaway a few hours North. It’s the perfect spot, quiet and well equipped and far enough away from other people to avoid uncomfortable conversations about the amount of noise they’re making. 

He shimmies out of his swim-trunks and bellyflops onto the bed. Pulls a black bag full of every sex toy and supply they could think of and roots through it until he finds the toy they bought nearly a year ago to help Duck learn to take his Sylph form. He flips through the futures, finds he’ll have an easier time if he grabs a smaller dildo as well. 

Pillows arranged against the headboard in the optimal position, he lays back and begins working in the first toy. It doesn’t take long, his body relaxed from the hot tub and from the general air of calm that’s filled the last few days. 

The larger toy goes in smoothly until it hits the first ridge, at which point he dumps more lube onto it and gently pushes it in little by little. Moans softly at the stretch.

“Indrid?” Duck’s sleep-tinged voice floats in from the living room.

“I’m in” he chirps when the toy sinks deeper, “here.”

Duck grins as soon as he hit the threshold, “Y’know, you coulda woken me up if you were rarin to go again.”

“Y-yes, but, ah, I have other plans for you and wanted to get a head start while letting you rest.”

“Ain’t you the thoughtful one.” Duck reclines beside him, kisses his cheek and brushes a strand of hair from his face. His gaze trails down to where Indrid is fucking himself, and he registers for the first time what toy Indrid is using.

“This headin where I th-”

“Think? Yes. I want you to fuck me in your Sylph disguise. I’ve never taken a Sylph cock in this form and I desperately want to know what it feels like to have you, as you always put it, pound me into the mattress when you’re twice my size.”

“Holy _shit_ darlin.” Duck’s gaze is so adoring and so ravenous that Indrid can resist kissing him. 

“Go change.” He purrs, then giggles as Duck leaps off the bed so eagerly he overbalances and falls on the floor. Duck wheezes with laughter as he stands, manages to retrieve the charmed ring with minimal pauses to giggle. 

His Sylph form fills the room, the ranger stretching his wings and showing off the metallic sheen of his feathers. 

“You ready? Or d’you need more prep?”

The toy hits the floor with a thud and Indrid opens his arms. 

Duck chuckles as he crawls onto the bed, “How about we start with you on top? That’s what we did my first time and it was real helpful.”

Indrid sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, allowing Duck to lay down and spread his wings. Then he pats his thighs and Indrid scrambles to straddle him. 

As soon as the head of his cock presses inside, Indrid wonders simultaneously how Duck wasn’t trying to ride him at every chance possible, and how he survived Indrid’s mating season. The sensation is deliciously overwhelming, and he never wants it to stop. But he was also right to be cautious the first time he and Duck tried this, just as Duck is being with him now. 

“Good?” Duck rubs his thighs, antennae twitching wildly.

“Wonderful. Goodness, Duck, this feels incredible. This may, AH, may sound silly, but I like how much of you there is. More to love, as they say.”

Duck snickers, then chirrs loud enough to shake the windows when Indrid sinks most of the way down. 

“Fuuuck.” 

“Agreed.” Indrid squeaks, adjusting his hips so he can better accommodate the stretch, “r-roll your hips pleaseAHHnnnnm yes, yes sweetheart just like thatOH, oh that was all the way in, goodness, yes.” His hands flail, trying and failing to balance on Duck’s stomach and driving his cock deeper as a result.

Clawed, fuzzy fingers close around his own.

“I gotcha darlin. How about we take a sec, so we can uh, both get, uh, a hold of ourselves.”

Indrid glances up, smiles when he spies the look of pure concentration on Duck’s face. An erratic _tHWOP_ fills the room as his wings make juddery beats on the bed.

“My love, if you come right away I will not be offended.” 

“I wanna savor this goddamn it. Fuck, Indrid, it’s like you can barely hold me, it’s so fuckin tight I’m gonna pass out from how fuckin hot it feels.”

“Mmmmm, it’s like we were made for each other.” Indrid wiggles and Duck chirps. 

“Fuck, uh, thought it was just you been bigger’n me that was a fun size difference. Turns out I like the reverse a whole fuckin lot to.”

“Me too. I do wonder what happens if…”

“ohFUCKme.” Duck arches off the bed when Indrid starts bouncing on his cock. He moans in delight when it pulse inside him, as if trying to merge them closer. His whole body is going to be sore later, something he does not need foresight to know, just as he doesn’t need foresight to know he will not regret it in the slightest. 

Duck chirpmoans beneath him, and at the noise Indrid moves one hand to stroke himself. But the hand is grabbed mid-air.

“Uh uh, you come from this or not at all.”

Indrid chirrs with mock indignance. Duck grabs his other hand in response, leaving both to twist uselessly by Indrids thighs in his grip. Duck thrusts into him relentlessly, laughing when Indrid drops his head back and moans.

“Oh yeah,look at you, takin it like a fuckin champ, fuck, darlin, you’re so goddamn good to me.”

“L-likewiIIIIIse, ohyesyes.”

“You want me to cum in that cute little ass, darlin?”

“Please.”

“That’s it, my sweet, filthy, darlin, lemme fill you up, wanna watch you fuckin struggle to take it all, fuck, shit _shit_ , Indrid.” 

Indrid yelps as Duck pulls his ass flush against him, the noise dying into a whimper as he feels Duck spill inside him. The claws release his wrists, skate down to rest on his ass as Duck thrusts through the aftershocks. 

“Sweet christ that felt good.” 

Indrid smiles, panting, and runs his hands through the dark green feathers of Ducks belly. Duck sits up, licks his cheek before lifting him off his cock (making them both moan comically loud) and settling him against the pillows. 

“Any thoughts on our, ah, next steps?” Indrid pets the edge of Ducks wing. A new future flashes to the forefront and he licks his lips in anticipation.

“Might go make myself a drink and read some more.” 

Indrid pretends he can’t see what’s coming and puts on his best pout, “but my sweet, I desperately need your attention.”

Duck thumbs the head of his cock once before standing, “We’ll see how I feel in a bit.” 

He turns his back and Indrid watches him carefully; Duck flutters his wings in two short bursts, a gesture Indrid explained to him several months ago.

A gesture that means, “come after me.”

Indrid waits until Duck is out of sight before getting up and following him into the living room. The night before, they’d made a large nest of pillows and blankets to snuggle down in while watching movies (very little watching actually occurred). Duck is currently rooting through the blankets, in search of a magazine he’d been reading.

Indrid gingerly removes his wedding ring, his Sylph form casting a shadow over Duck. 

“If you know what is good for you, my sweet, you will stay in that position.”

Duck sits up, grinning.

Indrid growls, tackling him into the pillows, nipping his neck and dragging his claws along his chest. 

“Shit that feels good.” Duck bares his throat, and Indrid forgoes biting in favor of nuzzling it gently, smirking at the purr rumbling from his husband. 

“It’s about to feel even better.”

“Gettin cocky on me ther-whoah, uh, Indrid?” Ducks thighs rub together as he looks down in surprise, “What the fuck is goin on?”

“You’re getting a crash course in mothman anatomy. Just as your cock is concealed and needs to be drawn out, there’s also an, uh, opening that will make itself known if you are in an extremely receptive mood. Which you seem to be.”

“Indrid, I swear to fuck if you’re about tell me I got a fuckin cloaca-”

“No, that is not the case. Nor do we need to make use of it if the idea is unpleasant to you.”

“Naw, just startled me a bit.”

“Apologies” Indrid bumps their foreheads together, “That particular turn of this afternoon surprised me as well.”

Duck chirps, then sits back on his heels, “how do you want me?”

“Hands and knees, please.” Indrid purrs approvingly when Duck obeys. The noise grows louder, Duck’s deeper purr joining his when he pushes inside. 

“Oh, Oh _yes_ , Duck.”

“Shit, that’s somethin else, goddamn, that is some lock and key shit right there.” Duck laughs, even as his limbs shake. Indrid leans forward, braces one hand on the ground and slips the other beneath Ducks wing to cradle him close. 

Slowly, he drags his hips back and forth, Duck warm and wet and ridged around him, purrs morphing to whimpers as he picks up his pace. Duck shifts forward, pushing his hips up and back for a different angle, and as Indrid takes full advantage of it he recalls something Duck enjoyed during Indrid’s rather eventful mating season last year.

“My sweet Duck, taking me so well. Such a lovely mate, so attentive and obedient.”

“Oh fuck.” On the floor, Duck’s hand links with his. 

“I know my love, you like being reminded that you're my mate. And who could ask for, ah, goodness, better? Strong and brave, kind and caring, and so handsome that I intend to spend every remaining night of my life fucking you until you go limp with pleasure.”

“Jesus fuck, darlin, yes, oh fuck Indrid right there, please.”

“So wonderful, I’ll never know what I did to, gracious, deserve you, but I intend to enjoy every moment, oh _oh_ ,” Duck tightens around him, the muscles tugging and twisting, as if his favorite fleshlight came alive. He growls, “that’s it my darling, take all of me, you’re mine, my mate, my love, mine, mineminemine, _Duck_ oh.” 

“C’mon darlin, make me yours fuck, ahfuck _fuck_ shit.” Duck rips the blanket beneath his hands as Indrid comes, trilling and wings spread, pumping his hips furiously to be sure not a drop is wasted. 

He pulls out and immediately flops against the couch. 

“Ooof.” Duck removes his ring, human once more, and rolls until he’s sprawled in Indrid’s lap. 

“Agreed.” Indrid pants, petting the sweat-stuck strands of hair from Ducks forehead. 

Duck takes his hand, kisses each knuckle in turn and then eases himself up onto the couch, patting the space beside him. Indrid grabs his ring from the nearby table and takes his place. Duck rolls them so Indrid is resting atop him, glides a hand gently up and down his back. 

“I do, genuinely, not know what I did to deserve you.” Indrid murmurs, “But I would live each moment of my life, even the painful ones, a hundred times over again if it meant we would end up together.”

Duck takes his hand, holds it so that their wedding band rest next to each other, “And I’d never ask you to. Because, Indrid? All my life I been runnin from fate, wonderin what was comin, looking over my shoulder for the other shoe to drop. But since we been together, I started looking forward a bit more. Started thinkin about the future, not as somethin to run from, some destiny that was gonna be shoved into my hands, but as somethin I wanted to run _to_. Because you were in it.” 

Indrid shifts onto his elbow, watches Duck’s eyes glint as he smiles up at him. 

“We made it, darlin, We survived shit that all odds said we shouldn’t have. The day is saved, and I done did the damn thing that I was hounded about. There’s nothing comin for me, for us, now. And the fact that we get to find out what’s ahead side by side is the best damn reward for gettin through all that I can imagine. I spent most of my life runnin. Now I’m gonna put down roots. I’m gonna grow.”

Duck adjusts, sitting up, cups his free hand to Indrid’s cheek, “And you’re gonna grow right along side me, you know?”

Indrid draws their joined hands to his chest, resting them above his heart. 

“Yes, my love, I believe I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reading!
> 
> I'm opening up requests again, so if there's something you're itching to read, head over to my Tumblr and drop me a note.


End file.
